And Libertea for All
by Zeplerfer
Summary: Chapter nine: Arthur wondered if it was too late to offer to let the dowager keep her reward money if he could just keep the prince. Anastasia AU. {This is my collection of USUKUS oneshots. Full list of summaries in chapter one, previous chapters include Nekotalia, Pottertalia, time travel, canonverse daemons, vampires, and a sleeping prince.}
1. Paws for Alarm (Nekotalia)

_A/N: To help you find the different drabbles, here's a list of summaries!_

**Table of Contents:**

**1. Paws for Alarm** - After a month of dating, Arthur is still keeping secrets.

**2. England's Funeral** - America's ignorance about a longstanding European tradition leads to a confession at a funeral.

**3. Out of Time** - Librarian Arthur is offered the chance of a lifetime to visit the age of King Arthur. But is it a real offer or just a prank?

**4.** **A Nation's Daemon** - Touching another person's daemon was a horrible violation of personal boundaries... unless it was a lover's touch.

**5.** **Let's Make a Deal** - Arthur was always late to class... until he made a deal with Prankster Alfred, who knows all the secret corridors of Hogwarts**. **

**6. The Lost Prince of Spades** - Arthur wants the reward money for finding the Lost Prince of Spades, but training the prince's look-alike and keeping him safe might be more difficult than he imagined.**  
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**7. Vampires of Fantasia** - The quest to find three young women kidnapped by a vampire leads Alfred to the castle of Arthur Kirkland. Pity that the gardener is the only person around.

**8. Sleeping Cutie** - What happens when it takes more than a kiss to rouse a sleeping prince?

**9. The Lost Prince, Part Two** - Arthur wondered if it was too late to offer to let the dowager keep her reward money if he could just keep the prince. (Sequel to chapter six.)

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><p>Paws for Alarm<p>

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><p>As the lights in the cinema dimmed, Arthur casually stretched his arm around the back of Alfred's seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his American boyfriend grin back at him in-between mouthfuls of buttery popcorn. The first time he had seen Alfred devour junk food at the movies, he had been horrified by the amount of food Alfred could eat. But now he secretly hoped that Alfred would finish off the extra-large tub of popcorn before the end of the new movie trailers. He wanted Alfred to eat quickly partially because the American was a noisy eater, but mostly because a tub of popcorn made it difficult to snog during the boring parts of the movie.<p>

True to form, he felt Alfred lean closer as soon as the popcorn was gone. Keeping his eyes on the screen, Arthur half-turned his face and found two warm lips pressed against his own. Despite the greasy taste of popcorn, he sighed happily and deepened the kiss.

By the time the movie reached the halfway point, Arthur's hands were tangled in Alfred's hair and he was sitting in Alfred's lap. Their soft moans must have drawn someone's attention, because Arthur blinked when an usher flashed a light in their face and insisted that they vacate the premises immediately.

"It wasn't that good of a movie anyway," Arthur muttered, grateful that the darkness and his heavy winter coat hid the bulge in his pants as they left the cinema.

"So... wanna head to your place now?" Alfred suggested eagerly, his wide grin showing off his boyish charm.

Arthur froze and started to panic. "I thought we were heading to your dorm room."

"Yeah, 'bout that..." Alfred rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "My roomie kinda threatened to drown my electronics in alcohol if I sexiled him one more time."

"Well, we can't go to my flat!"

"Why not?"

"Because..." Arthur's thoughts raced as he tried to think of a good excuse. "Uh, the toilet isn't working."

Alfred frowned. "I thought you said they fixed that last week?"

"Right, but the place is still a huge mess."

"Messier than _my_ room?" Alfred asked incredulously.

"Okay, perhaps not quite that messy," Arthur admitted. "But the walls are really thin and I'm afraid the neighbors might complain."

"I can be quiet!"

"We were just kicked out for being too noisy!" Arthur reminded him.

"What a crock," Alfred grumbled. "I mean, the guy behind us was trying to film the thing! They should be thanking us for messing up his piracy."

"My point still stands."

"Come on, Artie!" the American begged. "I wanna see your place. It's been a month and you still haven't let me visit. I'm starting to think you've got a wife on the side or something."

Arthur gaped. "I don't have a wife!"

"Or a husband?" Alfred asked.

"Or a husband!"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Well..." Their loud argument had drawn a number of stares, leading Arthur to blush as he glanced down at the pavement. "Let's just say that I haven't been with someone for quite some time."

Alfred shrugged. "Okay, so it's a bachelor pad. That's cool."

"No, I mean that I got a bit lonely..."

"You've got some inflatable dolls or something?"

"No! Ugh, I suppose you're not going to let up until you've seen it..." Arthur buried his face into his hands and sighed. Giving in to the inevitable, he led Alfred to the train and bought two tickets for the Catford station in southeast London. With each step closer to his flat, his panic grew. He knew he wouldn't be able to live down this humiliation. Alfred was going to laugh at him, or worse, dump him.

Arthur unlocked the front door and winced as he heard a loud meow welcoming him home. Four paws raced across the hardwood floors, and a white cat with a dark ruff around her neck approached them at breakneck speed. Arthur sighed. The shame was about to begin.

"Hey there, big fella!" Alfred said cheerfully as he bent down to pet the large, fluffy cat. She curled around Alfred's legs and purred eagerly. "What's your name?"

"This is Augusta."

Recognizing her name, the cat meowed loudly.

"Is this what you were hiding?" Alfred asked with a laugh. "Dude, I don't care that you have a cat. I already knew you were gay."

"That's just a stereotype," Arthur muttered as he put away his coat. He was in the middle of hanging up Alfred's jacket when he heard two more cats racing their way. Arthur sighed. So much for his hope that the cats would be too scared to greet the new human.

The kitties bounced eagerly into the room. One was pure white with slightly longer hair curled near her ears, the other was a mix of white and brown with a small dark marking across her nose. Moments later a small tabby with two red bows attached to her collar pounced on Arthur's shoes. Tails swishing with excitement, the moggies swarmed underfoot as Arthur led Alfred to the kitchen.

"Whoa." Alfred's eyes widened as he took in the growing number of cats. They meowed eagerly, begging Arthur for their dinner, and he obliged.

"The white one is Wellington," Arthur explained. "Adelaide has the mark on her nose, and Victoria is the smallest."

"Dude, how did you end up with four cats?" Alfred asked as he knelt down to pet the small tabby. She mostly ignored him in favor of her fish dinner.

"Six, actually," Arthur admitted as his cheeks burned.

Alfred glanced up in shock. "Six?!"

"Well..." Arthur cleared his throat. "Regina is too shy to come out when other people are around and Perth hates pretty much everyone."

"Man, I didn't realize I was dating a crazy cat lady," Alfred teased. He stroked the soft fur beneath Augusta's chin and easily lifted the heavy cat into his arms. Always eager for attention, she purred and cuddled against his broad chest.

Arthur tried not to feel jealous of his cat. "I started homing them for the local rescue," he explained. "It wasn't supposed to be permanent." He didn't add that he had suffered a long dry spell before Alfred, and the cats had provided a pleasant alternative to loneliness.

Augusta mewled and jumped down from Alfred's arms when a fifth cat padded into the kitchen. As the two groomed each other, it was obvious that they were sisters. Regina had the same ruff around her neck, although hers was pure white.

"God, you're such a cutie," Alfred said with a chuckle as he reached over to stroke Arthur's soft blond hair.

"Stop that! I am not a cat!" the Englishman protested.

"Aw, kitty has claws." Alfred leaned closer with a Cheshire grin. "But don't you want to finish what we started?" he breathed into Arthur's ear. Ignoring the chorus of meows from beneath their feet, he pulled Arthur into a passionate kiss.

They stumbled into the bedroom and slammed the door shut on their feline audience. As much as Arthur loved cats, he wasn't going to make love in front of them. He and Alfred soon lost their shoes as they crashed into the bed. The shirts followed a moment later, hitting the wall before they fell to the floor. Arthur no longer worried about the neighbors hearing as Alfred pinned him to the bed and planted wet kisses along his chest.

Moments later, Alfred's breathless pants turned into a cry of pain. Arthur glanced down to see an angry orange blur chomping on Alfred's toes.

"Perth! Bad cat!" Arthur yelled.

Grimacing in pain, Alfred reached down and lifted the hissing Scottish fold by the scruff of her neck. He carried the cat to the door and dumped her outside. "That's the one who hates everyone?" he asked.

Arthur nodded. "That's her. I'm sorry about that."

"Well, she's just gonna have to learn to share," Alfred declared.

"You... don't mind my collection of moggies?"

"Heh." Alfred grinned. "Just wait till you see my collection of Pokémon cards."

"You're such a dork." Arthur teased. Behind his smile, he heaved a sigh of relief, grateful that his cat hoarding hadn't scared off his new boyfriend. The friendly felines had been a great solace during the past lonely year, it would have been ironic if they had scared off his boyfriend and left him lonely again.

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ dork," the American said as he returned to the bed with a grin. "So... can we name the next one Meowth?"

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><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I've decided to collect my drabbles into a single archive on ffnet. And to start with, here's one based on one of Iggycat's wonderful ideas!

Bonus points to the first person who recognizes the theme behind the cat names. They are Augusta (Americat), Regina (Canada), Victoria (Seychelles), Adelaide (Australia), Wellington (New Zealand), and Perth (Iggycat).


	2. England's Funeral

It's raining in London.

Beneath the arches of Westminster Abbey, the nations of Europe are solemnly gathered. The purpose of their gathering is made clear by the oak coffin that stands at the center of the Abbey. England, dressed in his finest suit, rests peacefully on the white silk lining. His blond hair glints like a dim halo around his head and he holds a bouquet of lilies in his motionless hands.

As the rain turns into a downpour, Austria provides a mournful tune on the Abbey's organ. The nations approach the coffin one at a time, each pausing for a few moments to murmur a farewell in hushed tones. Some apologize for past wrongs, while others grant England forgiveness for his sins against them.

Through it all, England lies pale and deathly still. Whether he accepts the apologies or seeks forgiveness, he does not say.

Belgium, her normal headband replaced with somber black, reaches the coffin when the sound of furious shouts draws the nations' attention to the Abbey's doors. They can hear the guards yelling as the huge doors quiver under relentless pounding. Moments later the doors fly open, and America storms into the church, looking wet and angry and _distraught_. As he stomps to the center of the Abbey, the other nations spot his badly rumpled suit and red-rimmed eyes.

"Stop! Stop!" the guards cry, chasing after America. He whirls around and punches one in the face, knocking him to the ground. The other reaches for his baton, but Liechtenstein reassures him that everything is under control.

Belgium steps away from the coffin, not that America notices.

His eyes are focused on only one person. As soon as America reaches the coffin, he clutches the edge until his knuckles turn white. He stares down at England in disbelief, unable to comprehend the sight. How can a personification be gone when the nation is fine? He thinks back to their past meetings and finds no suspicious clue. England had seemed perfectly healthy at the last conference. He had insulted America's ideas and then they went out for drinks afterward, just like normal.

And now... the enormity of forever crashes down on America. He realizes he will never have the chance to tell England the truth. They will never have a chance to turn their special relationship into something more.

"_No,_" America says with a heart-broken sob and a quivering lip. He turns to glare at the European nations, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Why didn't anyone _tell_ me?"

"Uh, America…" Lithuania begins nervously.

"Don't you dare," Poland whispers under his breath as he pokes his friend in the ribs. Louder, he adds, "Geez, America. This is, like, a funeral. Have some respect. If you have something to say, you should tell _him_," he says, nodding at the ornate coffin surrounded by white lilies.

America sniffles and stares at the floor, the anger in his expression melting away. He pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Everyone can guess that the water streaking his cheeks isn't just from the rain. "You're right…" he admits.

Turning his back on the gathered nations, America bows his head over the motionless nation. "England, I'm so sorry," he begins, his voice thick with anguish. His shoulders shake with silent sobs as he grips the edge of the coffin. "Why, _why_ England? I just… I'm so sorry for everything! I'm sorry for insulting your cooking and your eyebrows and calling you horrible names. I never meant it. Please, _please_, why can't I go back and tell you? I'd eat those scones for a thousand years and never complain if you just came back! I wish…" America takes a deep breath and the gathered nations lean closer as his voice drops to a whisper, "I wish I had told you that you mean everything to me… but I guess it doesn't matter now."

Still crying, America leans in and kisses England gently on the lips.

"So… beautiful," Hungary sighs approvingly as she holds her handkerchief to her nose.

"Wait, America!" Lithuania calls as America turns to leave. He reaches out and grabs the taller nation's shoulder. "This isn't what you think. We have a tradition in Europe of holding symbolic funerals every century or so. It's a way to let bygones be bygones."

"Symbolic… funerals?" America asks, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Dude, he won't understand if you're tactful," Poland says with a snicker. He saunters over, looking completely unlike himself in a black outfit instead of his usual pink. "What Liet is _trying_ to say is that England isn't, like, dead."

America gapes when he turns around and sees England sitting up in the coffin. Their eyes meet for a second and America feels his heart begin to beat again when he sees those lovely green eyes staring back at him. A moment later he notices England's red cheeks and realizes what he has just admitted in front of the entire world. Before the tense awkwardness can stretch into painful silence, he fakes a laugh. "I… I knew that!" he shouts unconvincingly. "Ha, you just got punk'd!"

Most of the nations roll their eyes as America rushes out the doors, his dignity in tatters. By the time they try to resume the symbolic service, the coffin is empty.

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><p>The rain slows to a drizzle as England slips out the back door of the Abbey. He relies on his instincts to lead the way as he chases after America. In all his years, he had never imagined that America would accidentally learn about the tradition of symbolic funerals. And he had certainly never expected such a heartfelt farewell. Tears, yes. A kiss and a love confession? Never.<p>

England's heart thumps painfully when he spots a familiar figure with wet hair, a damp suit, and speckled glasses sitting on a bench along the River Thames. The poor weather has kept away the crowds, leaving America alone beneath the gray clouds. England's still not sure how he wants to approach the conversation, but his first words leap to his throat when he sees America sneeze and shiver.

"You're going to catch your death of cold out here," he warns as he raises his umbrella over America's head.

"It's not like I'd be _actually_ dead," America mutters in an angry undertone.

England winces and decides to offer an olive branch. "I'm sorry you walked in there not knowing what that was. I can't imagine how hard that would have been."

America scoffs. "I wasn't upset, dude. It's called acting."

England shakes his head and ignores America's blatant lies. He wishes he had brought a spare umbrella because it's awkward to stand over America while the other nation stares at the ground. Instead he sits down next to America on the bench, close enough to hold the umbrella between them. "With all of our wars over the centuries, we need a way to forgive and move on," he explains. "This tradition gives us a chance to bury the hatchet."

"Why pretend to be _dead_?" America demands, finally turning to look at England. His eyes are still puffy and red.

"Because a funeral clarifies what's really important." England pauses and gathers his thoughts. "It's also a chance for some closure in case anything should happen. Most of us remember Rome, you know, and the way he just disappeared."

America continues to stare, but his expression finally softens. "Man, I don't think I'll ever understand you guys."

Though he shares the sentiment sometimes, England shrugs. "We've always kept it a Europe-only affair, but I suspect that other regions have their own special traditions. How did you even find out?"

"Uh, the NSA noticed some unusual messages going between countries lately…"

"And you're not satisfied to spy on a whole country, you have to spy on _us_ as well." England snorts. "Serves you right for taking this spying business too far."

"Yeah, I know." America finally manages a wry smile, despite his puffy eyes,.

That smile reminds England of his true mission. After all, he didn't follow America out of the church just to discuss Europe's symbolic funeral tradition and cover him from the rain. "I suppose I should have said something when you were standing by the coffin," he admits softly, "but I really wanted to let you finish."

"Yeah?"

England takes a deep breath. If America can admit the truth, so can he. "I would have reacted exactly the same way you did if I thought you were dead."

"Really?" America's breath hitches and when he stares at England his eyes are impossibly wide. Even with his tear-streaked face and rumpled suit, he looks beautiful. England answers his question without words. Beneath their shared umbrella, he cups America's cheek and returns America's gentle kiss from earlier.

When the kiss ends, England takes America's hand and pulls him up from the bench. "Let's go somewhere warmer," he suggests.

"Uh... you're not gonna hold me to the scone promise, are you?"

England chuckles and America returns his smile. After the day's events, they both know that the other nations will tease them for the next century. But neither can bring himself to care. The funerary tradition had served its purpose: it gave them a chance to recognize what was truly important and make a fresh start.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

This drabble was originally published on my tumblr in July 2014.

The plot comes from a fill I saw on the kink meme. The basic plot is this: the nations have a tradition of holding fake funerals every few centuries to let go of old grudges. It's England's turn, but nobody told America about the tradition. He shows up in tears and confesses his love. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find the fill again, so I just ended up re-filling it myself. If anyone knows where the original is, please tell me, because I'm dying to read it again.


	3. Out of Time (Sci-Fi)

Busy restocking the shelves with recently returned books, Arthur didn't notice anything special about the handsome blond student who wandered into the library around noon. Sure, the young man kept glancing around like he was a tourist in a foreign land, but that was nothing special. Plenty of freshmen didn't step foot into the building until midterms. The librarians just sighed and tried to do their best to help frosh on research papers that were out of their depth.

As the young man came a little closer, Arthur unconsciously slowed down his efforts to restock the books as he silently reminded himself that at the age of 23 he was too old to creep on the freshmen, even the drop-dead gorgeous ones.

Catching Arthur's gaze, the student's grin widened and he walked over. "Hey, could you help me find some books?"

"Of course." Arthur gestured to the shelf. "There are some books right here."

The young man laughed loudly enough to make heads turn in the reading room. "Nah, I mean specific books. I'm looking for stuff about King Arthur."

"Really?" Arthur blinked in surprise. It wasn't every day that a student came in wanting to learn more about his personal area of expertise. "I would be happy to help. Fortunately for you, I did my master's thesis on the Arthurian legends. Most of the books here are rubbish, but I can point you to some good introductory texts."

He led the young man up the staircase and across some old, ratty carpet to the section on English folklore. As a pleasant surprise, he found himself facing a barrage of eager questions while he loaded books into the other man's arms. Did he think there was a 'real' King Arthur? Where and when did that man live? How much of the legends were true? And didn't he find it amusing that he shared his name with him? The last question was added with a grin, making Arthur roll his eyes.

"Congratulations on becoming the millionth person to make that joke," he replied. But it occurred to him, a moment later, to wonder how the young man knew his name.

Seeing his confusion, the student grinned. "One million and one, actually. A librarian told me to find 'Arthur' if I had questions about King Arthur, and she pointed me to you." The young man stuck out his hand. "I'm Alfred, by the way."

It was a warm, pleasant grip, and Arthur felt an easy smile spread across his face. "Well, if you'd like to know about King _Alfred_, I'm happy to show you that section as well."

The young man's loud, bright laughter returned, filling the room. Arthur was probably supposed to shush him into silence, but he found himself chuckling too. It was nice to meet someone who was equally enthusiastic about studying history. Most of the students were doing research because it was required for class, but Alfred seemed genuinely interested in everything Arthur knew. And maybe interested in Arthur himself...

"Well, those are all my recommendations for introductory texts," Arthur said, hastily pushing a final book into Alfred's arms as he pushed the thought of asking a student on a date out of his mind. "I really should get back to the front desk now."

"Wait! Just one more question." Still holding the tower of books, Alfred blocked his path back to the stairs. "If you had a chance to go back in time and meet the real King Arthur, would you do it even if it meant that you could never come back to your own time?"

Arthur chuckled. "Given my family, I'd be eager to go."

"No. I mean, _seriously_. Leaving behind everyone you know for the chance to learn everything you ever wanted to know. That's a tough choice."

"Well, sure, hypothetically it's a difficult choice, but it's never going to happen."

Alfred tilted his head to the side. "What makes you say that?"

"It's rather obvious, isn't it? If people could travel through time, they would have done so already, and we would know about it. QED."

"Okay, but maybe they're good at hiding. Maybe they have automatic translators to match the slang of the era and neural cloth that looks like what you _expect_ them to wear." Alfred's clothes shimmered, and for a split second his hoodie and jeans changed into a silvery form-fitting outfit unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. The physique that had looked good before seemed amazing in the tight contours of the metallic sheen.

"You... what..."

"Check this out." Alfred pressed a tiny silver cube into Arthur's hand. As soon as the cold metal touched Arthur's skin, the people in the room seemed to take on different hues, ranging from dull gray to brilliant red.

"What is this?" he asked, trying to figure out what the colors meant, and if they meant that he needed to go talk with a psychotherapist.

"It tells you who's attracted to you. The brighter the color, the stronger the attraction."

"Miss Graham?" Arthur murmured to himself, surprised by the bright red of the library's oldest employee who he could see stocking books in the French language section. He thought she was a sweet old lady. Apparently she was sweet on _him_.

"Can you blame her? It's probably that cute accent."

With a blush, Arthur handed the cube back to its owner, who was his own pretty shade of pink. The Englishman's mind was reeling. "I... I don't know what to say."

"You could answer my question."

Arthur shook his head, overwhelmed at the possibility that he could travel back in time. Seeing history firsthand was everything he had ever wanted. Was it worth the cost? "Yes," he breathed.

Alfred grinned at the books that were still piled high in his hands. "Guess we won't be needing these."

"And you shouldn't take them anyway unless you're planning on returning them within 30 days," Arthur said as he hastily reshelved the history books he had been showing to Alfred. If he was going to leave his library, he wanted to leave it looking tidy. He felt a frisson of excitement flow through his body at the thought of going on a wild and crazy adventure. It was like the plot line from books he had adored as a child. With an eager grin, Arthur turned around... and discovered that there was no one standing near him on the ratty old carpet. Across the aisle, Miss Graham gave him a smile and a wave before she toddled off to shelve more books.

Alfred had disappeared.

Arthur fumed and felt like an idiot for the rest of the day. He trudged home after closing time, positive that some group of university students were laughing about their hilarious prank. Who knew, perhaps it was 'Act Like a Time Lord Day.' Arthur didn't care. He just wanted to kick back and hate the world from the comfort of his own home. As he stepped into the crosswalk, a bike knocked him to the side, pushing him into the street.

Brushing dirt off his knees as he grumbled to himself, Arthur wondered if his day could get any worse.

He should have known better than to ask.

Arthur heard the sound of squealing tires and a honking horn and he looked up to see oncoming headlights fill his entire vision. It was the last thing he remembered before everything went black.

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><p>They held a closed casket funeral for Arthur given the corpse's mangled state. A family that hadn't been particularly loving in life spared no expense in death. Wreaths of white lilies and roses decorated the church and everyone spoke of a life cut tragically short. They eulogized Arthur in generalities, spending most of their words on their own feelings. His friends wept genuine tears while the family accepted condolences with dry eyes. After a dreary service that Arthur would have hated, they buried the coffin six feet below while solemn music played in the background.<p>

And no one realized that the body in the casket was fake.

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><p>Struggling to find his way out of the darkness, Arthur woke up with a splitting headache. It was a familiar enough sensation, although he didn't remember drinking the night before. He managed to open his eyes and was nearly blinded by the whiteness of the room. "Is this... a hospital?" he asked the indistinct figure on the side of his bed.<p>

"Sort of. Hold still, the medicine hasn't kicked in yet."

Arthur blinked up into blue eyes and gasped. "Alfred?"

The young man grinned apologetically. He had switched back to his silvery spacesuit. "Yeah. Sorry about the disappearing trick. I sort of had to wait for..." He sighed. "Well, I'll explain it once you're feeling better."

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Arthur demanded. His headache was killing him and he felt angry and confused. He didn't understand how either he or Alfred had ended up in a hospital room. Was this another prank gone horribly wrong? Desperate for answers, Arthur rolled out of bed, dodging Alfred's grasp as he stumbled out the nearest door. He found himself on a balcony and what he saw took his breath away.

It was a city floating in the clouds. The buildings shimmered and sparkled in the clear blue air, and he could see tiny figures crossing between buildings on transparent bridges. Some seemed human enough, but others... he had no idea what they might be.

"My god." Arthur gripped the railing with white knuckles. "Where are we?"

"Please, come back inside and lie down," Alfred begged.

"Not until you explain what's going on!" Arthur shouted. "Where am I? _When_ am I?"

"It's okay." Alfred took a deep breath and held out his hands in a placating gesture. "I know this is weird, but I wasn't lying earlier. This is the future and I _am_ a time traveler. We think one of our jumpers got lost in the time of King Arthur, and I need help finding her. That's why I came looking for you."

Arthur blinked. "Me? Why?" he asked suspiciously. "I'm no Arthurian expert."

"You _are_, but you're right, that wasn't the entire reason. Most people lose the ability to jump timestreams after age 25. And..." Alfred gave him another uncomfortable look. "We're not supposed to interfere in the past. It messes stuff up."

"You mean that plucking me out of my own time isn't interference?"

Alfred bit his lip. "Not in this case."

"Why?" Arthur narrowed his eyes. A gust of cold wind blew across the balcony and he felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered the sight of the headlights, but now he thought he also remembered a hand reaching for his. "I died... didn't I?"

"You didn't die," Alfred insisted. "You're alive."

"But... I was going to die?"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah."

With that single word, Arthur felt his stomach drop to the floor. Everyone he knew thought he had died in a car accident. His friends, his mother, his father, his brothers. Everyone he had ever known was lost and gone forever. He was completely alone and adrift in an alien world. Feeling helpless and despondent, Arthur barely noticed a warm arm wrap around his shoulders as Alfred led him back into the hospital room and gently pushed him down onto the bed.

The world felt like it was wrapped in a gentle cocoon and all his thoughts were lost in a pleasant haze. The fear and despair Arthur had felt just moments earlier didn't disturb him as he stared placidly at the wall.

Alfred waved a hand in front of Arthur's face. He gave the Englishman an apologetic look. "Sorry about the medicine. It's the only way we know how to handle timeshock."

"Time... shock...?" Arthur mumbled, trying to force the gears in his head to keep turning, even if it felt like he was running through sand.

"Yeah, the first jump is the hardest. Your brain has to catch up with a bunch of changes. Some people feel like they _ought_ to be dead, and it gives them a heart attack." He gave Arthur a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. You're past the danger zone now."

"Good," Arthur agreed as muted relief filled his body. The cobwebs in his head were starting to clear. "You... never answered... my question."

"Hmm?"

"The city outside."

A grin spread across Alfred's face. "It's real pretty, isn't it? That's New London. The city where the sun never sets."

"Oh." Knowing that London still existed gave Arthur an anchor to hold onto. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so lost. "Is there... tea?"

"Yep! In more varieties than you could possibly imagine."

Arthur leaned back against the pillows and tried to imagine all the different types of tea. Focusing on what was in front of him was more pleasant than thinking about what he had left behind. After all, instead of an early death, he was headed for a life of adventure. "Not a difficult choice," he murmured.

Alfred seemed to understand what he was referring to. "I know. But we can't just tell people that they're about to die. It makes timejumping easier if you agree beforehand." His smile softened. "I'm glad you did."

"So what happens now?" Arthur asked as he felt the last of the wooziness pass. He still had a lot to think about and a confusing array of emotions to sort through, but at the moment, he simply wanted to distract himself with work.

"A cup of tea and then Camelot?" Alfred suggested.

Arthur scoffed. "Camelot was an invention of the 12th-century French romances. It doesn't appear in the earliest Arthurian materials. I wouldn't say no to the tea though."

"Okay, no Camelot then." Alfred laughed. "See, this is why we need your help!"

"By the time I've taught you everything there is to know, we'll have made it through those endless varieties of tea." On the whole, Arthur thought, it was probably for the best that time was on their side.

* * *

><p>For USUK Sweethearts Week, Day Two.<p> 


	4. A Nation's Daemon

There were two things that everyone, humans and nations alike, knew about daemons.

The first was that they looked like animals and represented a complementary part of one's soul, shifting during one's childhood before they settled on a single form in adolescence. On this point, England was grateful that a nation's daemon wasn't always the national animal. As much as he loved the cheerful chirps that reminded him of spring, he would have felt silly walking around with a robin perched on his shoulder. (He would have been willing to consider a parrot during his privateer years, but a robin? No. Just no.)

During England's earliest years, when he ran wild in the forests and dales, his daemon took on the appearance of wild creatures, transforming easily from rabbit to wren and back again. Her forms were always small, swift animals, giving both of them the ability to run and hide from their many enemies. As England grew older and tasted civilization, his daemon changed with him, shifting to larger, stronger creatures. When he fought alongside knights, his daemon became a sturdy mare, and when he hunted with the nobles, she was a fierce hound. In all of her forms, England loved her dearly.

It was on the muddy fields of Agincourt that she settled on her permanent form. England could _feel_ it the moment she trapped Francis's cat-daemon beneath her paws. All around them, English archers brought the French soldiers to their knees in the pouring rain. It was a victory both of them would remember for centuries.

"Good job, Avalon," England murmured to his daemon. He looked at the beautiful harrier with pride. She wasn't a large hound, but she was fast and strong. And she was the perfect animal to fight against France and his pathetic silky long-haired cat. Both France and the cat daemon looked absolutely pathetic as they collapsed in the mud, but even defeat didn't stop France from trying to belittle England.

"A dog?" he sneered. "Only _you_ would choose a servant's daemon."

"We all serve some master," England replied, smirking as he planted his boot on Francis's chest. France would learn who his master was soon enough.

Despite the taunts, England was never ashamed of his hound daemon. Unlike other nations, he understood the value of a hierarchical society and he knew his place within it, serving the one who wore the crown. From this perspective, Avalon's form was a promise of greater victories to come. With enough time and effort, the whole world would bow to England and his monarchy.

* * *

><p>The second thing that everyone knew was that it was absolutely forbidden to touch another person's daemon without their consent.<p>

England never had trouble with this edict. He never wished to touch another's daemon nor did anyone want to touch Avalon... until the day he met America.

After enticing the colony away from France (another victory to add to his long list), he cradled the sleepy child in his arms and smiled softly at the boy's bunny daemon. The creature eyed them warily from the grass, though it made no move to run away. England felt a wave of nostalgia for his own days in the forest. "Do you remember when we used to run wild?" he asked Avalon.

Always a practical creature, the hound snorted. "I remember being hungry and scared."

"True enough," England agreed. Nostalgia for the sepia-toned past depended on a willingness to overlook the dirt and grime. That was probably why he grew more nostalgic as time passed, because the dim memories made it easier to forget the hunger and fear of his earliest years.

"How long do you think we'll need to stay to take care of the little one?" Avalon asked, glancing fondly at America with her soft brown eyes.

"I don't know. They grow so slowly at this age," England replied. He felt the colony begin to rouse and a moment later America wiggled out of England's arms.

As soon as he dropped to the ground, the boy raced over to his daemon, who promptly transformed from a bunny into a giant four-legged beast with thick fur. Whatever it was, England had never seen anything quite so huge and hairy. He gaped in amazement at the boy's strength as America swung the animal around, laughing with delight. "Play with us, Engwand!" he shouted, smiling at his new guardian.

"Or... perhaps he'll be fine without us," England admitted to Avalon, feeling a great deal less worried about leaving America alone. "What_ is_ that creature?"

"This is Columbia!" America replied cheerfully. The daemon shifted to the form of a hawk and hopped onto America's arm. America tossed up his arm and launched the bird into the air. England craned his neck to watch the daemon soar across the sky and swoop in circles above their heads. Although humans felt an unbearable pain in their chest if they were separated from their daemons by large distances, nations didn't face the same limitation. Avalon could stay anywhere within the Empire's borders and England would feel not the slightest hint of discomfort.

Distracted by watching America's daemon, England didn't notice the colony approach Avalon. His first warning that something was amiss was a prickle at the base of his spine. He gasped with shock as the colony began to pet Avalon. A feeling both painful and arousing shot through his body like a spark of fire.

"No!" England screamed as he yanked Avalon out of the colony's grasp and lifted her into the safety of his arms. "You mustn't touch her!"

"Why not?" the colony demanded, his eyes welling with angry tears. The boy's daemon swooped to his side, landing and comforting him in her form of a rabbit.

"Because it's forbidden!" England shouted. "You must never touch another person's daemon. Do you understand me?"

"I..." The colony nodded and began to sniffle. "I'm sowwy, Engwand."

"Dearest, he's too young to know," Avalon murmured, licking England's cheek reassuringly. He felt the anger dissipate, replaced by disappointment in himself for lashing out at America. He thought it was something that everyone just instinctively knew about daemons, but he had to admit that he had little experience with children. He set Avalon back down on the ground and offered his hand to America.

"It's all right," he murmured soothingly. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. Just remember that you must never touch any daemon other than your own."

With tears still trickling down his rosy cheeks, the colony looked up at England with impossibly blue eyes. "I pwomise," he said, grasping England's hand and letting the older nation lead him to a nice, warm house.

America kept his promise. Even when he asked England to let Avalon stay with him while England traveled back to London (a request that England was always too soft-hearted to deny), he didn't touch her again.

* * *

><p>From watching America and Columbia grow and play, England learned the colony's wildlife: bison and cougars, raccoons and beavers, wolves and coyotes. Each was strong and beautiful and seemed to fit parts of America's personality. The boy's daemon was playful and curious and England doubted that she would ever feel comfortable in the skin of a domestic animal. America grew at a shocking pace and England felt that the boy's daemon would settle far sooner than he expected. As much as he loved America, however, the colony's sudden growth spurts worried him. Avalon whispered of the boy's discontent during England's many absences and he knew something was seriously wrong when America no longer insisted that England leave Avalon with him during his transatlantic voyages.<p>

"I'm not a child," America snapped, pacing the hallway of the Virginia home as England prepared to leave on another trip. "I don't need a minder."

Avalon looked hurt by the rejection and England shared her pain, although he refused to show anything other than a stiff upper lip. "You _are_ a child," he insisted. "If you weren't, Columbia would have settled on a form."

"Maybe that _is_ her final form!"

They all turned to glance at America's daemon, who was hiding under a cabinet in the shape of a bobcat. She glared back at England and hissed.

Even though he should have felt angry at the creature's impertinence, England instead felt depressed at the rapid deterioration in their relationship. As a caretaker, he wondered where he had gone wrong. Because surely something terrible was bound to happen if America's daemon chose to resemble _Frances's_.

* * *

><p>In the end, England found himself on another muddy battlefield, staring at the colony who had become his enemy. After seven years of hard battle, it was over and he knew it. Ignoring his lack of reinforcements, England charged forward and knocked the bayonet out of America's hands. The colony didn't flinch. He stared back calmly, his eyes still as clear and blue as they had been as a child.<p>

The bayonet trembled in England's hand. He didn't understand how America could be so calm, until he glanced down at their daemons. Although Avalon normally fought beside him in battle, she had hung back during his charge. Her heart simply wasn't in it. He turned to look at Columbia, currently in the form of a red fox and sitting on her haunches near America. Although Columbia had shifted forms frequently during America's youth, England realized that she had been a fox for all of their battles over the past several years. Something in her eyes—pride leavened with a hint of sadness—told him that she was never going to change again. America's daemon had finally settled on a form, and he hadn't even noticed.

It was over. England dropped the gun and sank to his knees in the muddy field. He dimly heard America say something before leaving, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Moments later, he felt Avalon rub against his side. At least she would never leave him. He hugged the hound to his chest and wept.

For the next century, he built the greatest empire the world had ever seen. But it never made him feel whole.

* * *

><p>By the time the world descended into the fires of machine warfare, America and England were at least on speaking terms. England resisted the urge to point out that America arrived as late to wars as he did to parties, and America politely didn't mention that England needed his help desperately.<p>

Nevertheless, strategy meetings were always uncomfortable. England's hound still hated France's cat. China's crane treated everyone with disdain. And Russia... it was unsettling to watch the nation come to every meeting without a daemon. England had heard the Russian's daemon was a beluga whale, but he had never met her himself. As far as he knew, no one had. Canada's Kermode bear was always perfectly behaved, of course, not that anyone noticed.

Columbia and Avalon treated each other with caution, circling each other carefully at the start of each meeting before lightly touching noses. They usually kept their distance, but at the end of one particularly long meeting, England and America found them sleeping curled up together underneath the table. The two nations shared an embarrassed glance and never spoke of it again.

Despite their silence about the uncomfortable topic, the daemons' closeness presaged a certain degree of warming in their relationship. After the revelry at the end of the second world war, they tumbled into a cot together, although England had to remind himself that the one night stand didn't _mean_ anything. It was just a way to work off their battle stress.

* * *

><p>"This is a nice enough party," France said between sips of wine, "But it's a pity you never stayed at the earlier ones. They were <em>magnificent<em>."

"Piss off," England growled, excusing himself from France's company without a second glance. The pounding pain from his temples was nearly blinding him and talking with France wasn't doing his mental health any favors. With any luck, he could disappear before America spotted him. It would save them both from an uncomfortable conversation. Bent over double with pain, England stumbled through the empty hallways of America's large house and desperately searched for a quiet spot to lie down. He had known it was a mistake to go to America's birthday party. The throbbing headaches had bothered him off and on for the past century, and he still didn't know what to do. Going to the party made it worse than staying away. Barely aware of where he was going, England finally found himself in the dark solitude of the garage and he rested his head between his knees.

Moments later he felt Avalon nuzzle his side and he gratefully pet her soft fur. It didn't take away the pain, but at least it gave him something else to think about. Even though he might be lonely, at least he wasn't alone.

"Do you want me to find America?" Avalon asked him, nudging her wet nose against his side.

"Seeing him isn't going to help," England muttered. "I just need to rest."

She huffed. "What you need is some honesty."

England ignored that barb. Avalon had been pressing him for years to open up to the lad and he had steadfastly ignored her. Giving in to her pleas to attend the birthday party had clearly been a mistake. Time and distance were the only cure for this sort of wound.

Over the pounding in his head, England thought he heard the door open, but when he glanced up, there was no one there. It wasn't until a moment later that he felt a warm, furry body press against his other side. He looked over in shock and saw Columbia staring back at him with warm orange eyes. Taking advantage of his surprise, she propped herself up with her forepaws and licked his cheek.

England jerked back, unable to understand the wave of soft, fluttering emotions that washed over his body. Touching America's daemon was far more intimate than a mere hug or kiss or even sex. It felt like he had cradled America's heart in his hands. And if _he_ had felt it, he knew that America must have felt it too.

"Don't be sad, England. I'm glad you came," Columbia said, her voice soft and sweet. Her words startled England nearly as much as her touch. In all the time he had known her, she had always been a fox of few words.

"What... what are you doing?" England whispered, unsure if he was allowed to talk to another nation's daemon. It seemed almost as wrong as touching her.

She tilted her head to the side and grinned. "America is looking for you. I'm helping!"

England briefly wondered if it was too late to flee, but getting up from his position would mean moving Columbia off his leg, and even if she was willing to touch him, he wasn't quite ready to break the ancient taboo and touch her.

"Hey, there you are!" an excited voice boomed from the doorway as America burst into the garage. "Come on, we need to go outside to see the..." America's voice trailed off as he took in the little tableau before him, seeing England sandwiched between the two daemons and clearly touching both of them. America's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise.

"I'm sorry," England apologized. "I don't know what's gotten into her!"

America blinked a few times and then, to England's surprise, started to smile. He knelt down on the cold garage floor next to England and the two daemons. "It's okay. I don't mind."

In the darkness it was hard to read America's eyes, but England could hear the soft sincerity in his voice. Touching another person's daemon was usually a horrible violation of personal boundaries... unless it was a lover's touch. England flushed as he finally understood what Avalon and Columbia had been telling them years earlier. How long had he been blind? Deciding to finally test the waters, he reached over to gently brush Columbia's fur and smiled as an expression of bliss crossed America's face.

When England was finished, America grinned back at him and began to pet Avalon from head to tail. It felt like a warm caress throughout England's body and he barely managed to stop himself from sighing in contentment like _he_ was the one getting his belly rubbed. It even took him a moment to notice when the hands touching Avalon shifted over to his own body, as America cupped England's cheeks and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips. By the time England's eyes fluttered open, his headache was completely gone.

"Are you ready to go watch the fireworks now?" America asked.

"Yes," England breathed. And once the literal explosions were over, he had every intention of making America see stars. It seemed like they had a lot of catching up to do.

Afterward, to the surprise of absolutely no one, Avalon and Columbia began to spend every meeting curled up together.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

The daemons are based on Philip Pullman's Golden Compass / His Dark Materials trilogy. I know that some people have interpreted same-sex daemons in his books as representing gays and lesbians, but I personally think they mean that a person is transgender, so that's why I gave America and England female daemons. And yes, the reference to the Fox and Hound is intentional.

For USUK Sweathearts Week, Day Three.


	5. Let's Make a Deal (Pottertalia)

Alfred was never too fussed about arriving for his classes on time. Heck, sometimes he didn't even go at all.

It wasn't like it actually mattered. The professors let him move on to the next level anyways because he aced his tests. And Alfred suspected some of them were happy to have the arrogant Slytherin out of the classroom given his proclivity for pranks. Nothing expulsion-worthy, of course (he wasn't stupid), just the occasional fireworks or a brat that he turned into a frog. Amusingly, the professors never seemed to realize that Alfred did well on his tests because he practiced so much magic with his pranks. Honestly, it was a much better method than homework.

Instead of going to Transmutation, Alfred stared at the Ravenclaw entrance and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd heard that a simple Confundus spell could charm sentient objects the same way it worked on people and he was trying to figure out if he could make the Ravenclaw eagle spout riddles in Arabic. It would be totally worth it to see the baffled looks on smug Ravenclaw faces.

Before he could finish the spell, however, a scrawny wizard burst out of the dorm and slammed into Alfred, dropping a mass of scrolls onto the floor.

"Oh no, I'm going to be late!" the Ravenclaw wailed, scrambling to pick up his books and scrolls. It was ridiculous, he had so many books they must have weighed more than he did. Poor Ravenclaws, sometimes they were so studious it hurt to look at them.

Alfred took pity on the younger student and helped him pick up the last of the scrolls. His efforts were rewarded with a flash of gratitude from brilliant green eyes.

"Thank you!" the young man called as he dashed off to class, leaving Alfred standing in the middle of the hallway with a pounding heart. Beneath the scrolls and the robes, the Ravenclaw was surprisingly cute. He had a lithe body and intelligent eyes. Even his thick brows added to his quirky, geeky allure. Alfred grinned to himself and decided that he wanted to learn more about the studious young wizard.

Once Alfred started looking for him, it was easy enough to spot the young man dashing around all the time. His name was Arthur and he was a year younger than Alfred. Even more interestingly, it seemed that he was taking more classes than he was supposed to. His overloaded schedule meant that he often ended up arriving late to class, to Arthur's great consternation and Alfred's secret amusement.

Seeing his chance after Arthur's potions class, Alfred decided that it was time to propose a trade. He stepped in front of Arthur, who blinked at him in surprise, looking a bit like a startled bunny. "May I help you?" he asked warily.

"Nope," Alfred cheerfully replied. "I was actually thinking I could help _you_." He leaned closer and lowered his voice, enjoying the way that Arthur's pretty eyes widened in surprise. "You'd make it to class on time if you used the secret passageways."

"What secret passageways?" Arthur demanded.

"Silly Ravenclaw. They wouldn't be secret if you knew about them."

Arthur flushed adorably. His eyes gleamed with interest. "Are you serious? That... would be incredibly helpful. It's so hard to schedule my classes now that they don't allow time-turners! One escaped prisoner and suddenly none of us can have them anymore."

Seeing the flash of spunk in the other student's eyes made Alfred like him even more. His grin widened as he leaned against the wall. "Of course, there is the question of price."

"Oh..." Arthur's face fell and he shook his head. He looked so dejected that Alfred almost felt bad for teasing him. "I can't pay."

"I'm not talking about money," Alfred replied, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. With his parents' wealth, he didn't lack for material comforts. But there was other help he wanted. Professor Sprout had been getting on his case lately, so he knew what to ask for. "How about this: you do my herbology essay this week," he suggested. "And I'll show you one secret passage."

"What?" Arthur gasped, scandalized. "I'm not going to help you cheat!"

Alfred shrugged, not completely surprised by the reaction. Although they weren't as bad as the Gryffindors, some of the Ravenclaws could be such goody-two-shoes. "Well, then I guess I won't help you get to class on time."

He pushed himself off the wall and walked away nonchalantly. He had made it to the end of the hallway by the time Arthur caught up with him. The cute Ravenclaw had to jog a bit given his slightly shorter legs.

"Wait!" Arthur called, panting slightly. He must have been desperate to go to his classes because he gave Alfred a sour look and agreed to the trade. They crossed wands to seal the deal, and with a pleased grin, Alfred showed Arthur which set of armor to tap in order to open up the secret passageway leading from the dungeon to the hallway outside the dining hall.

Arthur's eyes brightened when the two stepped out into the hallway. Despite their long conversation, they had still arrived earlier than his classmates. Seeing that one small essay was a small price to pay, he sighed happily and gave Alfred an adorable smile. "Thanks! I'll bring it to you by Friday!"

* * *

><p>True to his word, Arthur delivered a perfect essay at the end of the week. And Alfred had a new proposal: he would Arthur a different secret passage in exchange for fetching him the ingredients to the polyjuice potion.<p>

"What do you want that for?" Arthur demanded, before shaking his head. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"That's right! Plausible deniability is definitely the way to go," Alfred agreed like a true Slytherin. He showed Arthur the invisible stairs leading from the library to the Divination tower and enjoyed the way Arthur's eyes sparkled with delight.

The next time they met, Alfred requested a palm reading in exchange for divulging the location of yet another secret corridor, one that would help Arthur reach the classroom for Muggle Studies in record time. Fortune-telling wasn't really useful, but he had run out of requests and he discovered that he liked spending time with the feisty Ravenclaw.

The way Arthur's eyebrows scrunched together in thought as he studied Alfred's hand was adorable. His fingerpads were gentle on the Alfred's tanned skin and the teen carefully examined each line and wrinkle. He hummed under his breath while his fingers glided over the sensitive skin, oblivious to the electrical sparks that he sent shooting up Alfred's spine. The last time Alfred's heart had pounded so fast, he had been trying to escape a herd of enraged Curly Civets.

"Let's see... you have a clear Fate Line, which indicates both distinction and satisfaction with your life's work." Arthur pursed his lips and then wetted them with a cute little lick of his tongue, not noticing the way Alfred's breath hitched in response. "A strong Life Line too. That's rather shocking given all of your dare-devil pranks."

"Heh. I thought you would have been too busy studying to know about those."

The tips of Arthur's ears turned pink and he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Well, they're so loud and disruptive! I mean, it's hard to study when there's a pack of Pigmy Hippogriffs running through the hallways."

Alfred chuckled, fondly remembering the headmaster's lecture after that particular prank. "Glad I could give you a study break! You need to get your nose out of a book and go outside more. You're paler than a snowy owl."

"There's nothing wrong with being pale! Perhaps you need to study more."

"Pfft. Studying is overrated. You can't learn everything from books."

"You can learn a great deal."

"Oh yeah, did any of your books tell you about the secret corridors?"

"Well, no... but you're not going to find a job without decent grades!"

Alfred laughed. "Dude, you just read my Fate Line. It sounds like I'll be fine." He grinned and winked. "I guess you're saving the best for last... tell me what my Love Line says."

Arthur scowled and glanced down at Alfred's palm. "The most I can say about it is that you have one, which is more than you deserve, you arrogant tosser. And if you actually read a book, you would know that there are four major lines, not three. Your Head Line is pathetic. This is the problem with never studying! What's the point of all that tanned skin and muscles if you never exercise your brain?"

"Wait. You think I'm fit?" Alfred asked, a dopey grin on his face. They were already standing close enough to let Arthur examine the palm of his hand, so he leaned in a little closer to bring his face level with Arthur's.

The Ravenclaw responded by lifting their hands and slapping Alfred in the face with his own palm. "That's for calling me pale!" he snapped, stalking away in a flurry of robes.

Despite the slight sting from the red mark on his nose, Alfred watched the younger teen leave with an amused smile on his face. He had almost run out of secret passageways to show Arthur, but now he knew what he would ask for the last one.

* * *

><p>"I want a kiss."<p>

"Excuse me?!" Arthur stared at him like he had grown a second head.

"It's less work than anything else I've asked for. Just one little kiss and you'll never be late for class again."

"I'm already on time to most of them," Arthur replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as his cheeks turned beet red.

"Yeah, I guess being in class _most _of the time is pretty good. It's way better than me!" Alfred laughed and turned around to leave. This time he didn't even take more than a single step before he felt Arthur's hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"I'll do it," the Ravenclaw said firmly. "One kiss, and that's it."

Alfred grinned and led Arthur to a deserted hallway. He pulled down on one of the candlesticks and grinned as a portion of the stone wall swung away to reveal a spiral staircase. The door closed behind them as they climbed the narrow stairs. It was dark in the enclosed space, so Alfred gripped Arthur's hand, just to show him the way. The light grew steadily stronger until the stairs ended at a trap door leading to the very top of the clock tower, just below the steeple. Alfred climbed up and then pulled Arthur up by his hand.

The room was small and airy. The ceiling slanted inward, giving Alfred just enough room to stand at the very center of the space. All around him windows provided a breathtaking view of the lakes and hills surrounding the castle. A few pillows and blankets piled on the side of the room showed that it was an excellent place to relax.

"This... this is lovely." Arthur slowly turned around and gaped as he took in the sight. After admiring the view, he gave Alfred a confused look. "But I don't see how it's going to get me to class any sooner," he admitted.

Alfred grinned. "Class starts when the bell chimes. So if you put a spell on the chimes, you can slow them down enough to give you time to get to class!"

"That idea is ridiculous," Arthur replied, though his lips quirked upward in a slight smile.

"Yeah, I guess you don't have to pay me if you don't want to." Alfred sighed and plopped down on the floor, pulling over a blanket and pillow to make the wood more comfortable.

"Maybe... maybe I want to." Arthur licked his lips nervously as he sat down on the blanket next to Alfred. He puckered his lips and leaned closer.

Alfred leaned a little closer and whispered into Arthur's ear. "I never said it would be a kiss on the lips." Arthur's cheeks flamed red, making Alfred laugh.

"Where else would you kiss me?"

"Oh, I don't know." Alfred smirked. He took Arthur's hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the fingertips. "There. We're even."

For all of his intelligence, it took Arthur a moment to process what had happened. "Oh." He glanced down at his fingers and looked a little disappointed. After a moment's thought, he looked back up at Alfred. "That wasn't much of a kiss."

"Yeah? Did your books teach you about kissing too?"

"They did!" Arthur said and he crawled into Alfred's lap to prove it. The first touch of their lips was electrifying. Arthur's mouth was hungry and demanding, even as his body melted into Alfred's embrace. The adorable, feisty Ravenclaw kissed him until they were both breathless and Alfred had never been so grateful that he had decided to offer his services.

"Wow." Alfred wiped the saliva from his lips and grinned from ear to ear. "Damn. I think I should start reading more books."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Based on Mayumi's post with plot ideas for every combination of Hogwarts houses. Long live Slytherin!Alfred and Ravenclaw!Arthur :)

Written for USUK Sweethearts Week, Day Three.


	6. The Lost Prince of Spades

"It's kinda small," Freddie complained as he glanced about the cabin.

It didn't take long for him to examine the room and its furniture, simply because there wasn't much there. The beige walls suffered from streaks of mildew and the carpet had stains that Arthur would rather not think about. The room was just big enough for two narrow cots, with a small area between them. There wasn't even a porthole. Between the three of them and their luggage, it would be a tight squeeze.

"Sadly, the Royal Suite was already booked," Arthur replied dryly.

Yao collapsed on one of the cots and leaned back with a weary sigh. "This journey has been too much for old bones!" he complained.

"It hasn't been much fun for young ones either," Arthur grumbled, thinking of their near deaths on the train and the difficulty he had buying boat tickets without proper papers. It had taken a hefty bribe, leaving them with no money to spare for a better room. It seemed their entire voyage was plagued by a curse. He stepped forward, eager to throw himself into the other cot, only to have Freddie beat him to it.

The teenager grinned back cheekily as he stretched his legs out across the cot. "I think a prince deserves to have a bed," he said. "Don't you agree?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to tell Freddie that he wasn't royalty. He was just some poor orphan who bore a striking resemblance to the lost prince of Spades. As superb con artists, Arthur and Yao had convinced the boy that he might actually be the prince, which was why they would be splitting the reward money two ways instead of three. All Arthur had to do was keep up the deception until they arrived at the Capital of Diamonds. So he bit his tongue. "Of course, your majesty," he said sarcastically.

"Artie, you don't need to be so formal! A simple 'sir' will do."

Grumbling to himself, Arthur took out his frustration with a swift kick to Freddie's luggage. The bag promptly yowled back at him as an angry, fluffy cat climbed out, his fur standing completely on edge. He swiped his claws at Arthur, who hopped back just in the nick of time. The cat jumped onto Freddie's cot and hissed at Arthur.

"You were supposed to get rid of him! I said no pets!" Arthur shouted.

"Hero isn't a pet! He's a hero. Aren't you Hero?"

The cat meowed happily and curled up against Freddie, acting like he hadn't just tried to claw off Arthur's legs.

"If they see him, they'll kick us off the ship!"

"Pfft. I'm royalty, remember? They wouldn't dare."

Arthur scowled. He was royally sick of the teenager's attitude. "You aren't royalty until the dowager says you are! Until then, you're just a mangy orphan with a mangy pet." The brief flicker of hurt on Freddie's face made Arthur regret his words, but he was too proud to take them back.

Yao sighed the weary sigh of someone who had just spent the past week in close quarters with the two squabbling young men. "Arthur, why don't you see if we can borrow a gramophone this evening? I'd like to continue with dancing lessons."

"Fine!" Arthur huffily agreed, slamming the door behind him as he left.

With the help of his stealth and light fingers, he successfully 'borrowed' a gramophone from one of the nicer areas of the ship, swiping a few records with different dance tunes. He returned to the cabin feeling rather pleased with himself.

When he stepped into the room, his jaw dropped to the floor. Freddie had been wearing scruffy clothes when he left, but now he had changed into a well-fitting evening suit that accentuated his long legs and lean hips. Arthur looked him over from head to toes, amazed at the complete transformation caused by a simple change in clothes. Wearing a handsome suit, Freddie looked like every part the golden-haired, blue-eyed prince.

"It's not comfortable," Freddie complained as he tried to readjust his lapels, ruining the illusion with his whining.

"It's not supposed to be comfortable," Arthur replied. "It's supposed to look nice and... where did you find a suit any way?"

Freddie smiled. "Yao made it for me! Did you know that he can tailor?"

"Yes. He had a shop for a little while after the fall of Spades." Arthur didn't mention that he only knew about the shop because Yao caught him trying to steal clothes when he was living on the streets. The older man had taken pity on him and given him a job, which eventually blossomed into their little partnership when they both decided they were tired of living under the deprivations of Soviet Spades.

Distracted by his memories, it took Arthur a moment to notice the sound of Hero knocking over his piece of luggage. Something rolled out and the cat batted the sparkly item under the cot.

"Oops, let me get that." Ignoring the fact that he wasn't supposed to kneel down on the carpet in his nice new suit, Freddie bent over and pulled the object out from under the bed. "Sorry, Artie. Looks like he wanted to play around with your music box."

"What music box?" Arthur asked, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. He glanced over at the object and, with a gasp, snatched it out of Freddie's hands. "This is a priceless Spadian antique! Keep your fleabag away from it!"

"Hero isn't a fleabag!" Freddie shouted back. Picking the cat up into his arms, he brushed past Arthur and slammed the door behind him. At the rate they were going, the ship owner was going to charge them extra for repairs to the cabin door.

Arthur stared down at the heavy, ornate object and frowned to himself. He had always thought that it was a beautiful, gold-encrusted paperweight. He couldn't imagine why Freddie called it a music box. Still grumbling to himself about annoying teenagers and their fleabags, he wrapped the precious object into one of his shirts and stuffed it into the bottom of his suitcase. When they finally arrived in Diamonds, the paperweight would be their ticket to an audience with the dowager. Still scowling, Arthur changed into his nicest clothes. Even though he was annoyed, the lessons had to continue, and he wasn't going to let Freddie look nicer than him while dancing.

By the time Arthur arrived at the top of the deck, Hero was out of sight and Freddie seemed to have calmed down enough to put up with more lessons. They had impressed upon him the necessity of training carefully to give him the mannerisms and knowledge of a prince. It wasn't enough to look like a prince, he had to act like one too. And being royalty meant knowing how to dance at even the fanciest ball.

At least the weather was cooperating, giving them a lovely evening. The sun had just started to set on the ocean's horizon, bathing the deck in warm oranges and reds. A breeze provided a hint of salt. It was the clear sky at night that gave sailors great delight. And they had the deck to themselves, giving Arthur and Freddie plenty of room to practice. (Yao had insisted that dancing was best left to younger knees.)

"I think we should start with a waltz," Arthur suggested, trying to keep his tone civil.

"All right," Freddie agreed stiffly as Yao placed a waltz record on the gramophone.

The gentle strains of a lovely waltz filled the air and, ignoring the tension between them, Arthur carefully positioned their hands into the correct pose. He held Freddie's hand with his left hand and rested his other hand on Freddie's back, feeling the firm muscles beneath his fingers. He led Freddie through the basic steps and was pleasantly surprised to find that the teenager was light on his feet.

"You have to let him lead, Arthur!" Yao called from his position near the gramophone.

"Oh... right," Arthur said, flushing as he realized his mistake.

A satisfied look crossed Freddie's face as they switched positions. Despite his lack of training, the teenager led Arthur smoothly across the deck. If he closed his eyes, Arthur could almost imagine they were dancing at a palace ball. The chandeliers would glitter above them while sparkling gowns and jewels filled the floor. It had been beautiful and magical when Arthur snuck a glance from the palace kitchens, but it was a world that was now gone forever. He opened his eyes again and found Freddie smiling at him.

"I think I like this better than the history lessons," the teen admitted.

"To be honest, so do I," Arthur agreed. Teaching history to Freddie was like teaching a bear to ride on a unicycle. Yes, you could do it, but it was a pain for both the bear and the trainer, and probably wasn't worth the effort involved.

"So... am I supposed to do anything else while we dance?"

"Make polite conversation, I suppose. Tell your partner how pretty she looks."

Freddie grinned. "Why, Arthur, you look very pretty this evening."

"Same to you," the con artist replied, rolling his eyes. A traitorous part of his brain noted that his comment wasn't nearly as sarcastic as it should have been. Freddie did look good in the suit and when he wasn't being an annoying prick, he was actually pretty nice. Arthur almost felt bad for tricking the teen into thinking he was royalty. Still... it would be a lot easier to convince the dowager to part with the reward money if Freddie truly believed that she was his grandmother.

They reached the end of the song before Arthur noticed and a pleasant dizziness filled his head. "I think the music's stopped," Freddie murmured.

"Oh. Then I suppose we should too."

"Yeah." Freddie pulled to a stop, but he didn't let go of Arthur's hands. They continued standing in the same close pose for another few heartbeats before Yao's cough brought them back to reality.

"That was... acceptable," Arthur said as he hastily pulled away. "I think we've had enough dancing for the night," he said, worried that he was coming down with something. It was the only possible explanation for his racing heart and sweaty palms.

"Does that mean it's time for dinner?" Freddie asked eagerly. The teenager ate so much that he was basically a walking, talking stomach.

"Yes, but you will have to practice the correct table manners," Yao replied, making the smile disappear from Freddie's face. As much as the teen loved food, he hated having to use the right fork, knife, and spoon for everything.

"Ugh. Food is supposed to be fun," Freddie complained as they found three seats in the cheapest dining room, "Why torture me with constant tests? If I can eat soup with it, then it's a soup spoon!" He glanced at the food and then at Arthur. After a moment's pause, the teenager gave Arthur a confused look. "Aren't you going to make some snappy remark or call me an idiot?"

Lost in his own thoughts, Arthur glanced up. For some reason, he found himself tongue-tied in the face of Freddie's handsome face and nice suit. "Huh?"

"Come on, you always have a witty retort when I complain. Something like," the teenager scrunched up his face in an imitation of Arthur's scowl, "You think this is torture for you? We're the ones who have to bloody spoon-feed you manners."

"Your accent is terrible," Arthur replied, though his comment lacked its usual bite.

Yao and Freddie both gave him concerned looks.

"Are you feeling okay?" Yao asked.

"No... I think I'm going back to the room," Arthur replied, leaving the two alone with their food. There was a tight coil in his stomach and painful clenching sensation near his heart. Given his illness, he considered stealing Freddie's cot for the night. Unfortunately, he returned to find Hero had sprawled out across the entire cot.

"You're fat and ungrateful, just like your owner," Arthur complained, but when he tried to push the cat off the bed, the cat hissed and tried to bite him.

Giving up, Arthur pulled out their coats and made a pathetic bed for himself on the narrow area of floor between the two beds. He tried to imagine the luxurious mattresses he would be able to afford once he collected the reward money for finding the lost prince of Spades, but for some reason the thought made his chest hurt even more. Unable to understand the pain in his heart, Arthur fell into an exhausted slumber.

* * *

><p>Arthur yelped, waking up when Hero bit his toe. He stretched out his foot to push the cat away, but missed because the feline had already raced over to the door. Hero was clawing at it, clearly begging for Arthur to open it.<p>

"Get Freddie to let you out," Arthur muttered, rolling over as he tried to go back to sleep. His plans were foiled when the cat bit his other toe. This time Arthur jumped to his feet and noticed for the first time that Freddie wasn't in his cot.

The room tossed with the motion of an angry ocean, forcing Arthur to press his hand against the wall to steady himself. He wondered how a storm could have developed out of such a clear sky.

Feeling uneasy, Arthur opened the door and watched the cat race toward the staircase that led to the deck. Picking up the pace, Arthur chased after him as his sense of unease grew.

Rain pelted Arthur's face as soon as he reached the deck. Between the darkness and the downpour, he could barely see more than a few yards in front of him. He fumbled for the rail and tried to find the stupid cat as the ship bounced up and down in the turbulent waves. He didn't care about the pet in the slightest, but losing it overboard would leave Freddie distraught and the teenager wouldn't be able to convince anyone that he was a prince if he was a blubbering mess. At least, that was what Arthur told himself. As he shuffled carefully across the tossing deck, he wondered what could have possessed the cat to race outside in the rain.

A flash of lightning illuminated the deck. In that brief moment of light, Arthur said a familiar figure walking toward the edge of the deck with a cat clawing at his heels.

"Freddie!" he shouted, trying to draw the young man's attention. "Get back here! You're going to freeze to death."

Arthur's heart turned to ice when he realized that Freddie wasn't slowing down as he approached the railing. Even though Arthur screamed as loudly as he could, Freddie didn't seem to hear him. And what was the lad doing outside during the storm anyway? Fearing the worst, Arthur raced forward. He slipped across the wet deck and barely managed to grab the teenager from behind when he started to climb the railing. Arthur struggled to pull Freddie back, but the teen was too strong and shouting in his ear did no good. He finally kicked the teen's knees out from under him so they both fell backward, landing with a heavy thump on the wooden deck.

Although Freddie's weight knocked the air from Arthur's lungs, at least the jarring movement also brought some sense back to the young man.

"Arthur?" When Freddie looked up at Arthur, his pupils were wide with fear. As they struggled to their feet, he clutched Arthur and sobbed against his chest, babbling about secret servant doors and unruly mobs and a battle with demons on the ice. "Everyone was dead!" he cried. "All dead!"

"Sssh. It's okay," Arthur said reassuringly as he rubbed Freddie's back. "It was just a nightmare. You're safe."

He pulled Freddie back toward the stairs and led him below decks, still trying to soothe away the young man's sobs. As Arthur glanced back, he saw Hero following them, meowing piteously the whole way. Drenched and dripping water on the floor, the two men and the cat made enough noise to wake up Yao as they returned to their cabin.

"Decide to go for a swim?" Yao asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Freddie sleepwalks," Arthur replied. He wanted to go 'borrow' some towels to dry off, but he was forced to sit down with Freddie on the cot because the terrified teenager refused to loosen his grip. "He tried to sleepswim too, but I grabbed him in time."

Although he tried to act calm, Arthur could feel his heart continue to race. He decided that his pounding heart was simply the result of nearly seeing his hard work go to waste. If Freddie had fallen overboard, it was goodbye to the reward money because they would never again find such a perfect match. It wasn't like he cared for the young man. Why would he? Freddie was annoying and childish and arrogant and attractive and kind and he made Arthur feel like life was worth living.

Arthur's eyes widened in realization as his heart beat a complicated pattern against his chest given the delayed shock of nearly seeing Freddie go overboard. This was awful! Falling in love with the clueless young man was not part of the plan!

Fortunately, no one noticed Arthur's sudden distress. Yao, blessed with the ability to sleep anywhere, had gone back to sleep, and Freddie was too busy clutching on to Arthur for dear life to notice much of anything.

While Arthur was still frozen in shock, the wet cat squirmed his way between him and Freddie. Within moments, Freddie happily switched over to hugging the cat, and Arthur finally managed to escape the wet embrace. He tried to be grateful, but mostly he was just jealous that the cat had stolen his place. He was the one who had done the hard work in the rescue effort, not the stupid cat!

"Cold," Freddie murmured, which was the most sensible word Arthur had heard him speak since the lad wandered out during the storm.

"I'll be right back," Arthur promised.

One trip to the ship's laundry room later, Arthur tossed two fluffy white towels at Freddie and used a third to dry himself off before changing into different clothes. When he finished, he found Freddie staring at him, a strange expression on his face.

"What is it?" Arthur demanded, trying to keep his voice low so they wouldn't wake up Yao. The older man was cranky if he didn't get his beauty sleep.

"Thank you," Freddie mumbled, his voice softer than Arthur had ever heard before. "I don't know how you knew, but I think if you hadn't been there..." a dark cloud crossed over his face and he shivered.

"Well, the cat woke me up," Arthur admitted. "That's how I knew."

"I told you that he was a hero." Freddie turned to smile at the cat. "Thanks, Hero."

"I still think he's a mangy fleabag," Arthur grumbled. He crawled back into his makeshift bed and wrapped himself tightly in the warm coats. "Now go back to sleep. You've still got a lot to learn before anyone is going to believe that you're the prince."

"But what if it happens again?" The teen asked, a slight tremble in his voice.

While Freddie watched, Arthur sighed and climbed off the floor. He pushed their suitcases in front of the door. "There," he said. "That'll stop you."

"Thanks," Freddie murmured, doubling the number of times he had ever shown Arthur gratitude. Arthur curled up on the floor again and tried to tell himself that the warmth in his cheeks came from the heat of his makeshift blankets.

He was a good liar, but even he didn't believe himself on that one.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

There's now a sequel in chapter nine.

Based on Anastasia and a very cute drawing by mynoodlesafterdark. I can't share the link, but it's pretty easy to find it on her tumblr page.

For USUK Sweathearts Week.


	7. Vampires of Fantasia

Alfred F. Jones rode into town just a little after noon with a modified gun that shot wooden stakes strapped to his back. He tethered his horse in front of the building that most resembled a town hall. It wasn't a very big building, but then again, it wasn't a very big town. He tipped his hat at the old man sitting on a bench outside the building and walked up the stairs.

"Looking for someone?" the old man asked.

"Yep, I'd like to talk to the sheriff." Alfred smiled winningly, good humor flashing in his bright blue eyes, and the old man couldn't help but smile back. Alfred's smile tended to have this effect on people—it made them happier to talk to the young man and more likely to give in to his sometimes unreasonable demands.

The old man chuckled. "Well, today is your lucky day, son. You're talking to the sheriff right now. Sit down and stay awhile, I sure don't have anything else to do." The old man patted the spot next to him and Alfred plopped down. "So what brings you here?"

Alfred leaned forward. "I heard about the missing girls and I want to help."

"You seem a little young to be hunting vampires," the sheriff replied, raising his bushy white eyebrows.

"I'm not young, I'm 19! And I'm going to be the best vampire hunter ever because I'm super strong."

The sheriff looked Alfred up and down. The boy certainly seemed to have a good set of muscles, but not much in the way of sense. On the other hand, there hadn't been many volunteers offering to try to hunt down the vampire and the town couldn't afford to provide the costly reward needed to entice an actual professional. This confident young man was probably the best chance they were going to get, even if it wasn't a very good chance.

"Well, I'll tell you what I know and we'll see if you still think you can help. The first young woman disappeared less than a year ago. There's now been two others gone missing. They were all young and lovely—just the sort that vampires like. They all disappeared around midnight. We think they must be far away from here now, because we never found any bodies. We looked, believe me, we looked." The sheriff sighed, suddenly seeming even older than before. "I don't know what else I can tell you."

"Are there any castles nearby?"

"Castles?"

"Of course! A vampire has gotta have a castle. That's what they teach at vampire hunting school." This was a slight lie on Alfred's part. First, many vampires can exist quite happily without a castle, provided they have some sort of chateau, villa, mansion, or other suitably nice estate in which to reside. Second, Alfred had never attended any sort of vampire hunter training. The only information he knew was the small pieces of gossip he heard in bars before the barowners kicked him out for being too young to drink. But everyone in Fantasia knew that bar owners were the only 100% reliable source of information.

The old man paused to think. "I suppose there are two mansions that aren't too far from here," he finally said. "The first is two day's ride north. It's in a foggy valley and owned by Lord Kirkland. He's a bit of recluse, so I don't know how much time he spends at his estate. The second is several day's ride to the west. That one's owned by Lord Bonnefoy. He certainly stays at his chateau often, because the nearby towns complain about him hosting parties every weekend." The sheriff drew a map and handed it to Alfred.

"Great!" the young man flashed his brilliant smile again. "I'll start with Kirkland and then check on Bonnefoy. One of them is bound to be a vampire. I'll let you know once I've figured out which. Thanks for the help!" He leapt off the seat and bounded for his horse, ready to be on the go.

"Wait!" the sheriff shouted and Alfred stopped, waiting by the side of his horse. "Be careful! There are a few things you have to watch out for. Never look a vampire in the eyes, they can control you that way. And they're incredibly strong and fast. Always fight during the daylight, because that's when they're at their weakest. Got it?"

"Right—no eye contact, good fighters, and only daylight hours. I won't let you down!" Alfred waved his hat as he left town heading north.

The old man sighed as he watched Alfred ride north. He had the sinking feeling that the young man just didn't have what it took to be a vampire hunter. This prediction would turn out to be correct, though not for the reason the old man suspected.

* * *

><p>Alfred knew he was heading in the right direction as the mist grew thicker and thicker, obscuring the green hills and the distant white sheep that grazed along them. The mist filled the air, making it hard to see far in any direction. It was the perfect place for a sun-averse vampire to make his home.<p>

Out of the mist rose an open gate with cursive golden A and K intertwined on the top arch. Alfred slowed his horse to a walk as he passed through the gate and along the lengthy gravel entrance road. Turning his head to the side, he could see an elaborate coat of arms featuring a lion and a unicorn at the top of the gate. Carefully-trimmed rose bushes grew on either side of the road, providing bright red spots of color in the green hedgerows. The mist lightened as Alfred drew closer to the castle and he spotted a gardener wearing a wide-brimmed hat kneeling among the rose bushes and doing whatever it was that gardeners do.

"Hey there!" Alfred shouted, catching the gardener's attention. The gardener set down his shears and hurried over.

"Hey there yourself. It is about time you finally showed up," the gardener said crossly in a strange accent. "I'll show you where to place the barrels, but you better have brought enough people to help take them downstairs because I am not carrying them in this time."

"What? What barrels?" asked Alfred, thoroughly confused.

"The beer barrels, you idiot!" the gardener shouted. He looked towards the gate and then back at Alfred. "Are they still out by the gate? Where is your cart?"

Alfred shook his head, still confused. "Uh... I don't have barrels or a cart."

The gardener looked ready to cry or yell or both. "The whole idea of a delivery is that you actually have something to deliver! If you have somehow forgotten the barrels, because you are apparently an idiot, then you had better go back and find them."

"Look, I think you have the wrong person, old man."

The gardener's voice took on a frosty chill. "What did you call me?" He lifted up his nose and glared at Alfred. With the upward tilt of his hat, Alfred finally had a good look at his face. The first thing he realized was that the gardener was actually quite young—no more than a few years older than Alfred himself. He was also shorter than Alfred, and lean and wiry. The second thing he realized was that the gardener had the greenest eyes and the bushiest eyebrows he had ever seen. The green eyes pierced through the fog and held Alfred rooted in place for a long moment. Alfred felt there was something about eyes that he was supposed to remember, but the thought danced away before he could grasp it.

Alfred laughed, startling the other man and ending their brief staring match. He dismounted smoothly and walked over to the gardener. "Sorry, dude!" Alfred smiled and slapped the gardener on the back. "You just really sounded like a crabby old geezer."

The gardener's mouth remained turned downward, locked in what appeared to be a perpetual frown. "If you don't have my beer, then why are you here?"

"Oh me? I was just looking for a job. You don't happen to have one, do you?" Alfred grinned and his eyes sparkled. No one could turn down such a charming young man.

Except apparently, this gardener. His frown only deepened. "You insult me and expect me to hire you? You really are an idiot. I wouldn't give you the time of day."

"That's fine, there's a sundial right over there." Alfred pointed to a sundial sitting on a pedestal amidst the rose garden.

The gardener looked at Alfred and then looked at the sundial. "I will make you a deal. If you can read the time from that dial, I will give you a job," he said.

"Really? That's great!" Alfred smiled again and ran over to the sundial after tethering his horse to a bush. Alfred looked at the dial from one direction and then from another, making his way around the entire dial. "Um, I think it's broken," he finally said.

"No, the dial works fine. But sundials generally require _sunlight_ to work. You can see the obvious problem here. Now if you don't mind, I need to get back to work."

"Okay, that's fine," Alfred spoke without looking away from the dial.

"Feel free to leave whenever," the gardener added.

"Sure," said Alfred.

"I see I need to be more direct when I'm talking with you—you can't read the dial, I'm not giving you a job, so please leave." The gardener folded his arms in front of his chest.

"What? You didn't say I had to read the dial right away!" Alfred protested. "I'm going to wait until the sun comes out."

The gardener shrugged and went back to work. The annoying young man would realize soon enough that the sun never shined in this little valley and would give up. He would have his garden to himself again, just the way he liked. The gardener picked up his shears and returned to tending the rose bushes as he had been doing before he was so rudely interrupted. He carefully ignored Alfred and started humming tunelessly to himself. The gentle scent of roses filled the air, a perfect little oasis of serenity disturbed only by the snip-snip sound of the shears and the intrusion of a rude and clueless young man.

* * *

><p>After an hour of examining the dial, waiting in vain for the fog to lift, Alfred concluded that the gardener was right to think this was an impossible task. Alfred turned away from the dial and decided to try a new tactic. This was going to require <em>manners<em>.

Alfred walked over to the gardener and sniffed one of the nearby roses. "These are really lovely roses," he said.

"What time is it?" was the gardener's curt reply.

"By the way, I'm Alfred." Alfred smiled broadly, but the gardener didn't look up.

"What time is it, Alfred?" replied the gardener, still not looking.

"It's time for you to tell me your name. It's only good manners to introduce yourself after I told you my name." Alfred patted himself on the back for this clever plan. The gardener clearly valued manners, so he wouldn't be able to refuse.

The gardener seemed to realize the trap his manners had created as well. "Arthur," he grumbled irritably.

Alfred took the opportunity to execute his finest bow, sweeping his hat off his head in a long arc. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur." He nodded his head in the direction of the heavy fertilizer bags sitting near the gardener's shack. "Could I help you with those bags, Arthur? It seems to hurt your back to lift them."

"My back is fine, but… those bags _are_ heavy..." Arthur gave in and directed Alfred in where to place each of the fertilizers bags. He would accept Alfred's help just for today and then send him on his way. It was too dangerous to keep a human around for very long. As they worked, Alfred lifted up the sacks like they weighed nothing and quickly finished a task that would have taken Arthur an hour. Arthur envied the youth his effortless strength. Arthur was still strong, but anyone's back would start to hurt after living for many hundreds of years.

* * *

><p>At the end of the day, Alfred stretched his back and heard a few muscles crack after a hard day's work. He knew he would sleep well that evening. But when he started to follow Arthur toward the castle after the man collected his tools, the gardener stopped at the door and glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.<p>

"Don't I get room and board for helping with the heavy bags?" Alfred asked, scrunching his forehead in confusion. It was the usual deal for performing hard labor. He would have thought that Arthur would know that.

"As I remember, I never hired you. In fact, I gave you one task and you failed."

"What? But I did all that work!" Alfred cried.

The gardener smirked. "Then here's your reward: next time you'll know better than to work without arranging for payment first." Quicker than Alfred could react, the other man slipped through the doorway and slammed the door shut. Alfred could hear an iron lock clicking into place, signaling with finality that he was not going to get dinner _or_ a place to sleep.

Alfred grumbled to himself as he fetched the saddlebags from his horse and set up a rough camp. It wasn't the first time he had gone to sleep on the hard, cold ground with an empty belly, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Still, he had a mission and he wasn't going to give up that easily!

* * *

><p>"Are you still here?" Arthur asked, waking Alfred with a nudge to the ribs.<p>

"Yep," Alfred replied, yawning as he crawled out of his bedroll. "Work for food?" he offered, his pleading eyes accompanied by a loud grumble from his stomach.

"I suppose," Arthur grudgingly agreed. For the first time in years his back wasn't hurting and if the young man was dense enough to stick around when he clearly wasn't wanted, then it was probably safe enough to take advantage of his services for another few days. "You and your horse can stay in the stables."

By the end of the day, Alfred was incredibly grateful for his tremendous strength. It was the only thing that kept him going as he moved wheelbarrows and dirt for the very demanding gardener. He was glad he had chosen a career as a vampire hunter; being a servant all of the time would have been awful. Lost in the thick fog, it was a little difficult to tell when evening finally arrived. All Alfred knew was that he was _very_ ready for dinner.

"Wow…" Alfred breathed as they approached Kirkland Castle. "This place is huuuge. You must have a hundred servants."

"No. In fact, considerably less." Arthur opened a side door that led into the kitchen. He pulled out some plates and cutlery and set them on the counter.

"So where's the cook?" Alfred asked as he looked around the room.

"That would be me." Arthur said. He hung his gardener's hat up on a hook and pulled on his cooking apron.

"How about your caretaker?"

"Me again."

"Butler?"

"Me."

"Maids?"

"Also me."

"Are you the _only_ servant?" Alfred asked incredulously.

"No, there are two others, a brother and sister. They herd the sheep. I doubt you'll see them often, they primarily keep to the south fields." Arthur pulled out the mutton roast he had put in to the oven earlier that day. The meat looked perhaps a touch overdone, but Arthur was sure it would still be delicious. He heaped the roasted mutton with potatoes and beans and gave the plate to Alfred.

"What's this?" Alfred looked at the food in disgust. He quickly remembered that he was pretending to have manners, and added, "I mean, what type of meat?"

"It's mutton, of course. Haven't you ever seen mutton?"

"No, not like this before." Alfred answered in complete honesty.

"Well, try some! Tell me what you think." Arthur watched intently as Alfred hesitantly lifted a forkful of the burnt blackened substance to his lips.

"Hmm," Alfred said as he chewed slowly, trying to force the nasty food down. "Um, it's… I've never had anything like it before," he managed to say.

Arthur's eyes gleamed with pleasure. "Really?" he asked.

"Definitely, it's definitely… unique… one of a kind, uh, very filling." Alfred choked down another bite and forced a smile.

Arthur smiled back, the first genuinely happy smile he had worn all day, and suddenly Alfred didn't feel so bad about the lying. The food was really disgusting, but Arthur didn't seem to get out much, so he couldn't be expected to know how bad it was. "I have more! Eat as much as you want!" Arthur piled more of the nameless black substance on Alfred's plate.

"So, you always cook for Lord Kirkland?" Alfred asked causally.

"Of course, he knows my cooking is the best." Arthur beamed with pride.

Alfred nodded, now certain that Lord Kirkland was a vampire. There was no way a mortal person could eat this food and survive. A vampire wouldn't have to eat the food—he could rely on blood for sustenance. He would have no need for a proper cook and wouldn't care if his cook made something that could only be charitably described as a toxic waste.

"Are you going to take up some food for him tonight?" Alfred asked, hoping that he could offer to take up the food and see the vampire in person.

"Oh, no," Arthur paused for a moment, "Lord Kirkland isn't in residence at the moment."

Alfred groaned in disbelief. Two days of hard labor, all for naught! But Arthur's next words cheered him up considerably.

"You worked quite hard. I suppose you've earned a bed."

After the disgusting dinner, Arthur led Alfred to a nice bedroom in the otherwise empty servant's quarters. Alfred lay down on the bed and began making his plans. He was the world's best vampire hunter and he had an inside position now. All he had to do was wait for Lord Kirkland to return and it would be easy to unravel the mystery of the missing maidens.

* * *

><p>As much as he enjoyed having a servant to do his heavy lifting, spending so much time with a human proved difficult for Arthur. Because where there were humans, there was blood, and where there was blood, there was <em>temptation<em>.

"Ouch," Alfred quickly pulled his hand back from the thorny rose bush.

Looking up from his work, Arthur said in exasperation, "Honestly, you have to be careful. Roses can be quite thorny." His breath caught in his throat when he saw the tiny drop of blood on Alfred's finger.

Alfred saw his glance and misinterpreted it—the same way he misinterpreted everything that required understanding subtle expressions. He smiled reassuringly, looking at Arthur with guileless blue eyes. "Don't worry! It was just a tiny prick."

Arthur quickly turned his flushing face away. "I wasn't worried about your finger," he said crossly. He closed his eyes and tried to erase the image of the glistening, luscious, _tempting_ blood. He could smell it from here, a sharp counterpoint to the scent of his roses. It smelled so _good_. Arthur reminded himself that he was a gentleman and that gentlemen did not jump on their servants, knock them to the ground, and then suck on their fingers, no matter how delicious their blood might taste.

When he felt slightly more in control, Arthur turned back to Alfred—who had pressed the bleeding finger against his mouth. "Don't suck on your finger!" he shouted as he leapt forward and yanked down on Alfred's forearm, popping the finger out of the lad's mouth.

Alfred stumbled back a step, his mouth gaping in surprise. "Dude! What's your problem?"

"N-nothing… it's just…" Arthur paused for a second. He couldn't very well tell Alfred that if anyone was going to suck Alfred's blood, by golly, it would be Arthur. "It's disgusting," he finished lamely.

Alfred laughed. "I wonder what you'd say to…" Alfred caught the look on Arthur's face and for once saw the sense in not saying anything further. He fumbled for a new topic of conversation. "You know, they remind me of you," said Alfred.

"Who does?" asked Arthur.

"The roses."

"Oh?"

"Yep… they're prickly!"

"I am not prickly!" Arthur harrumphed and stomped away from the annoying young man and his tempting blood.

* * *

><p>The week continued in much the same vein. With a wooden stake tucked in his boots at all times, Alfred worked by day and sought to discover the secrets of the castle by night. He wandered the castle hallways, peeking into rooms to find evidence of bathtubs large enough for a vampire to use to bathe in the blood of virgins and found none. He did find a lot of dust.<p>

After the promised delivery of beer barrels arrived in the middle of the week, Alfred loaded them into the basement and finally found what he was looking for. Peeping through the keyhole of a locked side chamber, he gasped when he spotted a coffin inside the room. He had finally found the vampire's resting spot! He lifted the door up by its hinges and walked inside. The lid of the coffin sat askew, revealing some fabric inside the coffin. Alfred leaned closer, only to find that the fabric was a piece of embroidery. It looked like a partially-completed unicorn. He frowned, wondering what sort of vampire kept embroidery in his coffin.

"Alfred, what's taking so long?" a voice called from the stairwell, echoing loudly in the stone basement. Acting fast, Alfred returned the door to its hinges and grabbed one of the barrels, acting like he had been carefully moving it into place.

"Just... making sure everything is in place," Alfred replied a little breathlessly when Arthur walked into view a few moments later.

"Be quicker about it," Arthur grumbled, but he gave a nod of approval when he saw the beer barrels lined up neatly against the wall.

Alfred felt a rush of sympathy for Arthur. The poor man seemed lonely and completely oblivious to the fact that his employer was a blood-sucking monster. And beneath the prickly exterior, he got the sense that the irritable gardener was actually happy to have another person around. Even the two shepherds never spent time in the castle, although Alfred did occasionally see a flock of fluffy white sheep create the impression of clouds on the foggy, green horizon.

He wondered why a vampire would want to keep beer or sheep. It didn't seem like either would be useful to him. But when Alfred tried to pry answers from Arthur, he came up empty.

The servant simply arched an eyebrow and gave him an incredulous look. "Of course Lord Kirkland drinks beer. He doesn't drink... wine."

* * *

><p>The answer to all of Alfred's questions came unexpectedly when he passed by the kitchen fireplace after dinner and saw Arthur smiling faintly as he did embroidery by the light of the flickering flame, creating a scene of perfect domestic contentment. However, Alfred froze when he saw the embroidery pattern—it was the exact same unicorn design he had seen in the coffin. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. There was only one explanation.<p>

Pretending to readjust his boots, Alfred slipped the stake into his hand and hid it behind his back as he rose to his feet. "Arthur…" he began to speak, finding it difficult to push the words past the lump in his throat. "Arthur Kirkland. You're a vampire." It wasn't a question.

Arthur's smile disappeared. The vampire looked up and they stared at each other across the room for several moments before Alfred remembered to look at the floor. Everyone knew that a vampire could control you through its gaze. Then he remembered that Arthur had looked him in the eyes many times that week and he wasn't sure what to think. Alfred felt like he should probably stab Arthur immediately since that's what a vampire hunter would do, but he felt sick at the thought because he liked Arthur, even if he was often crabby and prickly.

"Why were you pretending to be your gardener?" Alfred finally asked.

Arthur snorted. "Because I _am_ my gardener. I happen to like tending my roses and cooking. I can hardly be blamed if you assumed I was a servant." He gave Alfred a nonchalant look. "If you didn't come looking for a job, why are you really here?"

Something in his stare made Alfred blurt out the words. "I'm looking for the vampire who kidnapped three young women from a little town south of here."

"Well, it wasn't me. I don't seduce young women." Arthur smirked. "Young _men_ on the other hand..."

Alfred knew better than to keep staring into the vampire's eyes, really he did. But the gaze drew him in, pulling him deeper under the vampire's power. His fingers turned numb and the wooden stake fell from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

Images flashed in front of his eyes. A green meadow in summer. Sunlight sparkling through a forest canopy. A glimmering emerald. The shade of green filled Alfred's head with tranquil thoughts and he felt himself relaxing. His mind went blank as his worries drifted away. It felt like those lazy mornings when he woke up and drifted at the edge of slumber, aware of the world around him, but cocooned in soothing warmth that felt like a waking dream. He swayed drowsily and wondered if he was dreaming.

He moved an involuntary step closer and then two more, until he stood directly in front of the vampire. His body felt like it was no longer his, as if he were a mere puppet on strings. The vampire smiled, his canine teeth lengthening as his grin widened.

"I wondered how long it would take you," he purred, lifting his hand to stroke Alfred's cheek. His smooth, pale fingers felt like silk compared to the rough texture of Alfred's rough, tanned face. Alfred leaned into the touch, enjoying the sensation as the hand traced his jawline and then pulled down the collar of his roughspun shirt, exposing his neck.

It was obvious that the vampire planned to drink his blood and turn Alfred into a thrall, with no mind or will of his own. A small piece of Alfred tried to resist the trance. He managed to lift his arms and feebly tried to push Arthur away.

"These young women... were they young?" Arthur asked. "Attractive? Did they chafe against the social limitations of their small town lives and dream of far-off adventures?"

"Yes," Alfred mumbled, his brain still a little fuzzy on why he was being interrogated instead of drained for blood.

Leaning forward, Arthur sucked greedily without using his teeth and left a dark hickey on Alfred's neck. He smirked as he stepped away. "Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that those young women you're looking for are almost certainly alive. The bad news is that you'll need to pay a visit to Francis Bonnefoy."

The trance weakened enough for Alfred to stumble backwards, clasping a hand against his neck. "Why aren't you sucking my blood?" he asked, foolishly looking up into Arthur's green eyes.

"Oh, don't be such a bigot," the vampire replied, crossing his arms in irritation. "I've lived quite happily on sheep's blood and beer for the past two centuries, I'll have you know. They taste delicious mixed together."

Alfred scrunched his nose, but even he knew better than to argue with a vampire about his taste preferences. Instead he remembered that his mission was to find and rescue the young women from the village. "What's Francis like?"

"He's a scoundrel, a wastrel, and a rake." Arthur paused dramatically. "But he won't lay a finger on you as long as you have my mark on your neck."

"Oh. Uh... thanks?"

Confused about everything he thought he knew about vampires, Alfred quickly packed up his belongings and set off for Bonnefoy's castle. He was going to rescue the young women, and then he was going to find a new career.

* * *

><p>A month later, Alfred found himself returning to the castle in the foggy valley. He had met with Francis, who had been more than happy to point him to the three missing young women. They were living happy lives in the city and explained to Alfred that they had run away with the handsome vampire, who gave them lovely parting gifts after brief affairs. They hated their old village and were very happy with their new lives. They assured him that they didn't need rescuing in the slightest.<p>

As Alfred rode down the gravel path to the Kirkland Castle, he smiled when he spotted a figure hunched over rose bushes, his face protected from sunlight by a large, floppy hat. "Hey, Arthur!" he called as he dismounted and walked over to the rose bushes.

"Hey yourself," Arthur grumbled back. "What are you doing here?"

"Well... I thought I was going to be a vampire hunter, but it didn't really work out, so now I'm looking for a new job."

"Is that so?" The vampire looked up at him and a smile flickered across his face. "Well, I think I might have one for you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I don't actually know how Fantasia works, so I decided to mix Castles and the Wild West and Vampires and call it Fantasia.

For Sweethearts Week, Day Six.


	8. Sleeping Cutie

After traveling for many days and nights, risking life and limb to reach the wizard's tower, Alfred climbed to the highest room of the tallest tower to enter the princess's chambers. He crossed the room, eyes trained on the sleeping form resting at the center of a four-poster bed. Through the gossamer curtains, he could see only a vague person-shaped outline. Each step closer made his heart beat faster. His fairy godmother had told him that this was where he would meet his One True Love.

Alfred pulled back the curtains... and discovered that his princess was actually a _prince_.

He glanced down at the sleeping man's pale cheeks, striking eyebrows, and messy blond hair. His mouth went dry. Alfred had always found both men and women attractive, but this young man was the handsomest person Alfred had ever seen. The knight leaned in, bringing his face close enough to admire the blond eyelashes that rested beautifully against the man's cheek and his adorable collection of freckles. Alfred was already half in love, and he didn't even know the other man's name. Fortunately, he knew how to wake up a sleeping prince(ss). Gathering his courage, Alfred puckered his lips and planted a chaste kiss on the sleeping man's lips. He hovered over the man's body, breathlessly waiting to hear his prince's first words.

The man's eyelashes fluttered opened, revealing the clearest, most expressive eyes Alfred had ever seen. They flashed with intelligence and humor, even though the man had been trapped in a magically induced slumber for the past year. Alfred wondered what he was supposed to say to his true love. "Hello" seemed too prosaic. "I love you" seemed a little too soon. The prince resolved that puzzle by speaking first.

"You call _that_ a kiss?" he asked. Then—just as quickly as he had awoken—he fell back to sleep. His eyes fluttered shut, and his head lolled to the side.

"Uh..." Alfred replied, staring in confusion at the other man. He wondered if there was some trick to kissing sleeping princes. Perhaps they were different from princesses. Or maybe his chaste little kiss didn't have enough power to break the spell. Alfred wet his lips and kissed the prince again, this time making the kiss longer and deeper. Hoping that _this_ kiss had done the trick, he pulled back and watched his prince carefully.

The prince raised his head slightly off the pillow. "Better," he said. "What's your name?" he asked with a slight smile.

"Alfred."

"I'm Arthur," the man murmured, his voice fading as he passed out again. The color in his cheeks faded back to its original pale color. Alfred frowned, wondering what on earth he was doing wrong. He patted Arthur's cheeks and called his name, but got no response. When he shook the man's shoulders, his head just rolled back and forth.

Deciding that the _third_ kiss would be the charm, Alfred leaned forward and kissed Arthur. _Arthur_. The man's name sounded delicious in his mind, just as delicious as Arthur's lips. This kiss was hungry and passionate as Alfred slipped his tongue between eager lips.

"Mmm, quite good," Arthur complimented him, giving him a seductive smirk. Apparently a year-long slumber made one quite frisky.

"So, have you always had a problem with narcolepsy?" Alfred teased after he pulled away from the embrace, staying close so he could kiss Arthur again if necessary. Or even if it _wasn't_ necessary. Being a hero certainly had its perks, he decided.

"A kiss isn't enough to break the spell," Arthur explained as he tossed off his blankets. "You have to..." he trailed off, eyelids drooping and voice fading. He fell asleep again as he reached the end of his explanation, falling into Alfred's arms.

Desperate to hear what he had to do, Alfred kissed him again. As fire flooded his veins, he felt the other man respond to the kiss. Warmth pleasantly pooled in Alfred's stomach and sparks of electricity shot down his body. He pushed his tongue even deeper and didn't stop kissing Arthur until they were both out of breath.

"It's quite simple," the prince said breathlessly as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He began to tug loose the drawstrings on his breeches.

Alfred stood frozen in place as he gawked at Arthur's lean hip bones and the slender trail of blond hair below his navel. He hadn't expected to see either until they were married... although he certainly didn't mind the sneak peak.

"You need to sleep with me to break the spell," Arthur finished, his voice starting to fade even as he slipped a hand down his own pants.

"I have to _what_?" Alfred demanded. Shocked by the idea, he didn't move forward in time to catch Arthur before he slumped backward. The prince landed in an ungainly spread of limbs, with his legs dangling off the side of the bed, one arm flopping next to his head, and the other arm still trapped inside his pants. His chest rose and fell slowly, gentle breaths escaping from his parted lips. Alfred sat down on the bed next to the sleeping man and, blushing furiously, gently removed the trapped hand and laid it next to Arthur's side. After dragging his eyes away from Arthur's handsome legs, trim body and cute face, he resolutely stared at the tower's stone wall and considered his options.

"Fairy Godmother?" Alfred pleaded.

The sound of tinkling bells filled the room. A fairy with waist-length chestnut hair and a flower behind her ear appeared in front of Alfred. "Oh my, _oh my_," she said as she caught sight of Arthur. She blushed furiously and began to smile.

"You're not my Fairy Godmother!"

"She's on vacation," the fairy replied. "I'm her replacement."

"Oh." Alfred blinked and decided he could use whatever help he could get. "What should I do, Miss Fairy? I tried kissing him, but the prince said that wasn't going to be enough and now he's gone back to sleep." He gestured towards the unconscious young man.

The fairy flew closer to examine Arthur, taking her sweet time to look over every inch of his lithe body. Alfred felt a surge of jealousy and wished he had covered Arthur with the blankets before calling his fairy godmother.

"Looks like it's one of those more-than-kissing sleep spells," she said, nodding sagely. "Fortunately for you, I happen to have the right supplies," she explained, flicking her wand to create a bottle and a small packet that fell into Alfred's hands.

He looked at the objects in utter confusion. How was either of them going to help him wake up the price? He opened the bottle and found that it was filled with some sort of slick goo. "What's this for?" he asked, looking up at her helplessly.

She grinned. "Oh, you poor sweet innocent boy. I think I'd better stay and walk you through all of the steps. Let's start with foreplay!"

Finally understanding what it was, Alfred nearly dropped the bottle in shock. "That's not what I meant!" he protested, his cheeks beet red.

"Do you want to wake him up or not?" his Fairy Godmother asked, crossing her arms.

Alfred felt himself begin to panic. They had never covered any of these details when he was training to be a knight! "I can't just _sleep_ with him," he cried. "I'm not ready! I really thought we would talk a bit first. Maybe go out to dinner."

"Well, you _could_ take him out to dinner," the fairy suggested. They both glanced at the slumbering young man and imagined him passed out in a dining chair while Alfred ate. "But I think he'd prefer you just eat him now."

"No!" Alfred dumped the bottle and the packet into the nightstand drawer; to his horror, he saw that there was a duplicate of both already in there. "If you don't have any other options, you might as well go away, because I'm not going to do it."

"Ugh, you're no fun at all," the fairy groused. And then she disappeared.

Turning back to look at the prince, Alfred breathed a sigh of relief, before realizing that he was still in the same pickle. Looking at Arthur's pink, parted lips, he knew that there was only one thing a hero _could_ do. He leaned forward and, ignoring the tempting lips, planted a feather-light kiss on the young man's forehead.

"I _am_ going to break the curse," Alfred promised the enchanted man. He moved the prince back under the blankets, blushing as he retied the drawstrings on the prince's breeches. "But I'm going to start by taking you back to the castle and the royal wizard. Maybe he'll have an idea that doesn't involve..." his blush deepened. "You know what."

Glancing out the tower window, Alfred could see that the sun had already set, telling him that it was too late in the day to start his return journey. He felt bad for making the prince sleep a little longer, but a hero needed his sleep too. To get himself settled for the night, Alfred walked back down the very tall tower and found a more comfortable resting spot for his brave stallion. He made sure the horse had his oats and then frowned as he ate his own hardtack. He could spread out his bedroll and sleep on the hard ground, the same way he had slept during his weeks-long voyage to the tower. But...

A small part of his mind thought longingly of the comfy bed at the top of the tower. It was certainly big enough, and with Arthur trapped in an enchanted slumber, he would never know that Alfred had decided to share his bed. It was the sound of his stallion snoring that finally decided Alfred. He had put up with Hero's snores for the entire trip, and now that he had a chance to escape them, he was going to take it.

Alfred made the long journey back up the tower and, legs aching, gratefully collapsed into the bed next to the sleeping prince. He set a pillow between them to maintain propriety, wished Arthur a good night (not that it would be any different from any of his previous days and nights sleeping in the tower), and happily cocooned himself in the warmest, most comfortable bed he had ever slept on. His last thought before he fell asleep was that if Arthur _was_ going to be cursed to dream forever in an endless sleep, at least he had a very nice bed to do it in.

* * *

><p>Many hours later, Alfred woke to the sound of birds chirping outside the tower window. Warm morning sunlight poured in through the windows, giving the tower an enchanted golden glow. Alfred smiled and moved to stretch his arms, only to discover that he couldn't move one arm because it was trapped beneath a warm weight pressed against his side. His mind still hazy with the fog of sleep, it took a moment to recognize the mop of sandy blond hair laying on top of his chest.<p>

"Oops." Alfred blushed as he realized that sometime during the night he must have shifted over to the prince's side of the bed. Still... it wasn't like the prince was going to care. Tempted by the softness, he reached across with his other hand and gently carded his fingers through Arthur's hair. He hadn't noticed how messy it was before, but it really wasn't surprising that Arthur would have a terrible case of bedhead after a year's slumber.

The warm weight shifted against Alfred's body. Frozen in shock, he heard a muffled yawn and found himself staring into the pretty green eyes that had enchanted him the day before. Today, the eyes blinked at him drowsily, crinkling slightly at the corners as the prince smiled. "Good morning."

"G-good... m-morning...?" Alfred stuttered. "How are you awake?"

Arthur frowned slightly as he sat up in the bed. "Because you slept with me."

"No, I didn't!" Alfred protested.

"You clearly _did_," Arthur retorted, gesturing to the messy bed. His frown deepened as he shifted slightly on his rump. "Odd. Did I top? I don't feel sore."

"Nobody topped because we didn't..." Alfred blushed. "We didn't anything!"

"How strange." Arthur's frown shifted to a look of confusion.

"You believe me?"

"Yes. You have quite convinced me that you're a blushing virgin." Arthur pursed his lips thoughtfully. "But that doesn't explain why the curse is gone. The wicked wizard who put this spell on me said that I was too grouchy because I never got laid, and he swore that I would sleep forever until someone slept with me."

"That's terrible!" Alfred cried. He felt a surge of anger on the poor prince's behalf.

"And he was wrong too. I had plenty of sex! They just never stayed around..." Arthur's eyes widened. "Oh, _that_ was what he meant."

Alfred felt terribly lost and confused. "What was?"

"I needed someone who wouldn't leave as soon as we finished in the middle of the night. Someone who would still be sleeping next to me in the morning." He gave Alfred a soft smile. "Someone like you."

"_Oh_." Alfred blushed and returned the smile.

Arthur climbed out of bed and stretched, arching his back into a languid curve. Alfred couldn't help but drop his gaze to the prince's cute butt. Arthur caught him looking and gave him a seductive smirk. "Don't worry, my handsome knight. You may have broken the curse on a technicality, but I fully intend to bed you properly." He smiled at Alfred's pink cheeks. "Only when you're ready, of course."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I had a really strange idea, and I wrote it up, and it's still a really strange idea. Oh well, hope you liked it anyway!

For USUK Sweethearts Week, Day Seven.


	9. The Lost Prince, Part Two

**[Note: This chapter is a sequel to chapter six, so read that chapter first!]**

* * *

><p>Even among the well-dressed crowds at the ballet theater, Freddie looked resplendent in his tuxedo. He quirked his head at Arthur when he reached the top of the grand staircase and gave him a questioning look. Realizing that he had been standing on the bottom step and gawking for too long, Arthur quickly climbed the stairs and joined Freddie at the top. He took the teenager by the elbow and led him to their own private balcony.<p>

"How did you _pay_ for this?" Freddie asked, gaping and craning his neck as he admired the gilded decorations on the walls and the beautiful sconces lighting the small space from side of the balcony. The teen gently brushed his hand along the top of the plush red velvet seats and grinned in delight. "This is amazing!"

Arthur smiled himself, warmed by the happy look on Freddie's face. "It's a secret," he replied.

Honestly, it hadn't been difficult for a con man of his caliber to procure tickets to the ballet. After spotting a wealthy old lecher going to the theater with his lovely young mistress, Arthur had simply pretended to play the role of a detective hired by the old man's suspicious wife. In exchange for a nice sum of money (which he still had stuffed in his pockets), he graciously promised that he wouldn't tell the wife about the mistress. He even 'warned' the old lecher that his wife had begun to notice his frequent trips to the ballet. The old man and his mistress left in haste, and neither noticed how easily the tickets slipped out of their pockets.

Oblivious to the deception that had brought them the tickets, Freddie settled into his seat and sighed happily. "So what happens now?" he asked.

Arthur glanced over at the dowager's box. "Now we wait for intermission."

* * *

><p>It was probably a very nice ballet, not that Arthur had the frame of reference to appreciate it. Most of his attention was focused on Freddie. Some time in the middle of the first act, he noticed the teen anxiously twisting his playbill in his hand. Arthur reached over and patted Freddie's hand.<p>

"Sorry," Freddie whispered, his voice soft and nervous. He let go of the wrinkled ticket and grabbed Arthur's hand instead, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," Arthur quietly reassured the young man. "You are Alfred, the prince of Spades, and I'm sure she'll recognize you as soon as she sees you."

"But what if she doesn't?" Freddie asked with a worried tone. "I still don't really remember anything that happened before the mob attacked the castle. Even that servant's face is a blur."

Arthur unconsciously tightened his grip on Freddie's hand.

"And what if she thinks that I'm just another actor? Mei told me that the dowager stopped seeing people because there were too many con artists training blond boys just so they could collect the reward money." Freddie shook his head. "How could you lie to a nice old woman just to get her money!" he said indignantly.

"Not so loud," Arthur murmured, feeling a knot in his stomach begin to tighten.

"Sorry," Freddie whispered, chagrined. They sat silently for the rest of the performance. Arthur didn't even notice that they were still holding hands until it came time to clap at the end of act one.

As the curtains closed and the lights came up, Arthur stood up to leave. He found himself pulled back into his seat by Freddie's hand as Freddie gave Arthur a fond look. "You know, we've been through a lot together and I just want to say that... uh... I'm going to miss..." he trailed off.

"Yes?" Arthur prompted, leaning closer.

"Just, thanks for everything, I guess. It's meant a lot to me."

"Oh." Arthur tried not to feel disappointed. "I'm going... to, uh, miss... everything, too," he replied, fumbling for words himself.

"Right." Freddie nodded, a slight frown on his face. "So now what?"

"Now we pay a visit to the dowager."

"Okay." The young man looked at him with worried blue eyes. "But before we go over there, I want you to swear to me that you only brought me here because you think I'm the prince. Promise me that I'm not another one of those boys who someone trained just to collect the reward money."

This was the moment Arthur had been dreading and he felt his heart stutter. If it had been anyone else, an easy lie and smooth reassurances would have sprung to his lips. But torn between coming clean and reassuring Freddie that he truly was the prince, Arthur waited too long to respond. He saw Freddie's eyes narrow suspiciously.

"That's what I thought," Freddie replied coldly, snatching his hand back. "When you said that you had seen thousands of young men in Spades and not a single one of them looked more like Alfred than I did, you were just trying to find a lookalike."

"No! You really are the prince," Arthur insisted.

Freddie snorted. "You're a good liar. But I'm not going to play your game any more, Arthur. I'm not moving out of this box until the dowager is gone."

"I see." Arthur rose to his feet slowly. As much as his heart begged him to stay and plead with Freddie for forgiveness, he could see that it would he hopeless. But there was still enough time left for one act of kindness.

As Freddie sat in frosty silence, Arthur closed the door to the private balcony behind him and walked with determination to the dowager's box. He reached a hand into his pocket and wrapped it around the ornate paperweight. A knock at the dowager's box revealed a burly guard with a sour expression.

Arthur lifted up the paperweight and presented it to the guard. "I found this, and I'm returning it to her Highness."

"Oh? Wait here." The guard took the object and closed the door in Arthur's face. After two of the tensest minutes in Arthur's life, the door opened again and this time the guard invited Arthur inside. "Don't try anything," he warned.

This theater box was far more opulent than the one Arthur had stolen, but his eyes never left the white hair of the beautiful old woman sitting in the plushest chair. Remembering his manners, he stayed at a respectable distance and waited for her to address him.

The dowager rose to her feet with a smooth, regal grace, despite her age. She held the object in the palm of her hand and stared at Arthur with a steely gaze. "Where did you find this?"

Arthur met her stare with equanimity. "If you have any questions, you really ought to ask the owner. He's seated in box five."

"Oh, not again." She sighed. "I grow weary of these schemes."

"It's a music box, isn't it?" Arthur blurted before she could lift her hand and order him whisked away. The startled look on her face told him that he was right. "That's what he told me," Arthur explained. "I know why you're distrustful, but I'm not here for the money. All I ask is that you talk to him. If you do that, I won't ask for any reward."

She gave the music box a sad look and slowly nodded. "Very well. You have returned something precious to me, so I will talk to this young man." She lifted her chin. "But I don't expect him to be different from any of the others."

Arthur watched as the dowager strode gracefully from her box and, keeping his distance from her guard, he followed her back to the seats he had been sharing with Freddie.

"Go _away_, Arthur!" the young man cried when the guard knocked on the door. The guard opened the door anyway and Arthur could hear Freddie's surprised gasp as the dowager entered the box.

After the guard entered the room, Arthur shamelessly pressed his ear against the closed door to eavesdrop on their conversation. He could hear the dowager quiz Freddie about the music box, followed by the young man's hesitant replies.

"It only works if you press all of the secret buttons and then twist this little part here," Freddie explained as strains of a lovely waltz began to play.

"How did you know that?" the dowager asked.

"I don't know," Freddie admitted. "I just... knew."

"Do you remember anything else about this box?"

"Not really. I don't remember much before the age of eight. That's when they found me wandering around the rail yard."

"The rail yard? I see." The dowager sounded surprised, but she hid it well. "Does the song... remind you of anything?" she asked softly as the waltz continued to play.

"It's a lullaby," Freddie replied as he restarted the music box. "I don't remember the first part," he admitted, before joining in on the chorus in his warm tenor, "Hear this song and remember. Soon you'll be, home with me..." he trailed off.

"Once upon a December," the dowager finished with a singing voice undimmed by age.

"...Grandma?"

"Oh, Alfred! My dear boy!"

Arthur smiled to himself and walked away, filled with pleasure at a job well done. By the time they opened the door, he was long gone.

* * *

><p>Despite Arthur's promise to forgo his half of the reward, the dowager invited him to come collect it anyway. He went, though he wasn't sure why...<p>

As he stepped through the antique mahogany doors of the beautiful Diamonds villa, Arthur was surprised to see Freddie walking down the stairs, looking as uncomfortable as usual in his formal clothing. He froze mid-step when he spotted Arthur.

...oh, that was why.

"You're looking well," Arthur said, unsure whether Freddie had forgiven him for his earlier deceptions.

"You mean I'm looking _rich_," Freddie corrected, frowning as he continued to walk down the steps, holding his head carefully to stop the crown from falling off. "But I guess it means the same thing to you."

Arthur refused to let any of his pain from Freddie's barb show on his face. "Well, I'm glad you found what you were looking for, your highness," he said, executing a stiff bow.

"Yes. I'm glad you did too," Freddie replied, his voice equally stiff. "I guess we both have what we want now."

"Right." Arthur nodded and started walking up the stairs, blinking his eyes quickly to make the tears go away.

He froze when he heard Freddie call, "Wait, Arthur!"

"Yes?" he replied, gripping the handrail tightly, but not daring to turn around lest Freddie see the tears welling in his eyes.

Freddie paused and then said, "Goodbye."

Despite his blurry vision, Arthur managed to make it to the top of the stairs without slowing down his pace. He turned around once he was partially hidden by the banister and saw the young price readjust his crown. "Goodbye, Freddie," he murmured.

Arthur forcefully reminded himself that he was making the right choice. Freddie might have spent part of his life in an orphanage, but he had been born in a palace by the sea and this was where he belonged. Arthur would never be able to fit in.

Lost in depressing thoughts, he glanced down in surprise when he felt something brush against his leg. It was Hero. The cat looked up at him with sad blue eyes and meowed softly.

Arthur knelt down and gently pet the cat on the head. "Take care of him, okay?" he whispered, smiling as the cat butted his head against his hand. Despite their earlier fights, it was hard to stay upset at the friendly feline.

Hearing footsteps approach, Arthur glanced up to find Yao staring back at him with a slight smile. The former Jack of Spades was wearing his finest changshan and he looked quite ready for the ball celebrating the return of the Prince of Spades. Arthur wished him the best of luck in finding royal customers for his new tailor shop.

"Your half of the reward is with the dowager in her parlor," Yao said, gesturing toward an oak door at the end of the hallway.

"I know," Arthur replied, his voice hoarse. He wasn't surprised that the dowager was waiting for him with a suitcase of money, but he was surprised by how much it hurt that everyone thought all Freddie meant to him was a pile of cash. He wondered if it was too late to offer to let her keep the money if he could just keep the prince. "You can tell her that I'm sticking to my promise," he told Yao. It wasn't like the money would make him happy. It would just remind Arthur of _his_ lost prince.

"You should at least come to the ball," Yao insisted.

"No. I just came to say goodbye," Arthur replied. It would hurt too much to see Freddie dancing among his own kind. Wishing him the best in all of his future endeavors, Arthur shook Yao's hand.

"You too," the former Jack replied.

* * *

><p>Arthur had barely made it past the gardens when he heard the yowl of an angry cat. Recognizing the sound instantly, he sprinted in the direction of Hero's yowls. Dashing past hedges and leaping over the rose bushes, he found himself at the edge of the extensive gardens and across from the Seine.<p>

Something was terribly wrong; the closest bridge looked like it was frozen solid, even though it was already spring. Arthur ran faster when he saw Freddie and a decrepit old man fighting near the edge of the river. Hero jumped up to bite the old man's legs, but neither teenager nor cat seemed able to dodge the strange flashes of green light that knocked them backward.

"...can save you now!" the man cackled as the bridge beneath Freddie's feet suddenly began to collapse.

"Freddie!" Arthur screamed, leaping forward and grabbing the young man's hands before he could slide into the river. He pulled the teenager's arms to the stable portion of the bridge, but didn't manage to bring him any further before a solid flash of green slammed into his side and sent him flying across the bridge.

He crashed against the far side of the stone bridge and gasped in pain. Dark spots filled his vision and he barely managed to pick himself off the ground. His heart dropped to his feet when he saw the old man looking over the edge of the bridge and cackling madly.

"No!" Arthur shouted, staggering forward to leap into the water to rescue Freddie. He felt a surge of hope when he saw Freddie sneaking up behind the old man. Finding a new surge of speed, his fist nearly connected with the old man's face as another flash of light sent him soaring backward. The ground knocked the wind out of him when he landed, leaving him gasping for breath. The last thing he remembered, before a falling piece of rock knocked him out cold, was the sound of cracking glass and a flash of red light.

* * *

><p>The next thing he knew, Arthur felt a scratchy tongue licking his cheek. He blinked and found himself staring up into two sets of blue eyes.<p>

"Arthur! You're okay!" Freddie cried, sniffling as he pulled the other man to his chest and hugged him so tightly that Arthur gasped for breath. "Sorry," he said, loosening his grip enough to let Arthur breathe.

"Who was that? Is he dead?" Arthur asked desperately, groaning as he felt bruises on every part of his body. It was a wonder he hadn't broken any bones.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's dead this time."

"_This_ time?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell it to me later. We need to leave before the gendarmes show up," Arthur warned, feeling a little lightheaded and unsteady as Freddie helped him to his feet.

"Right." Freddie nodded, gently wrapping an arm around Arthur's waist. They hurried back to the gardens with Hero on their heels. "Doubt they're going to accept that this was the fault of a crazy anti-royalist who sold his soul to dark forces for mystical powers."

"I barely believe it myself, and I was there," Arthur replied, half-smiling as he leaned into Freddie's side. Despite their constant death-defying adventures together, he could think of no place he would rather be. With those pleasant thoughts fogging his mind, it wasn't until they were nearly back to the villa that Arthur noticed that Freddie's crown was missing.

"Huh." The young prince shrugged. "It wasn't what I really wanted."

"No?" Arthur asked hopefully. He felt warmth bubble up in his chest as Freddie turned to face him. "What _do_ you want?"

Freddie's loving smile was all the answer Arthur needed. Wrapping his arms around the young man's neck, he tilted his head upward and leaned closer, narrowing the distance between them until their lips met in a soft kiss. A second later, he found his feet swept out from under him and Freddie lifted him up into his arms, laughing happily. "Let's travel the world!" Freddie suggested.

"Yes, yes!" Arthur happily agreed. It sounded like a marvelous idea. The reward money would be more than enough to pay for a fantastic voyage, and this time they wouldn't have someone trying to kill them the entire way.

"And then we'll reclaim Spades!"

Arthur gaped. "Really?"

"You'll be my Queen," Freddie promised, his eyes gleaming with delight.

"Of course!" Arthur laughed and agreed to that idea as well, thinking that Freddie wasn't entirely serious. Of course, five years later, when they reclaimed Spades, he was too much in love to complain about the title. They waltzed together for their first dance and it was the perfect beginning for their long, happy reign over the Kingdom of Spades.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

That's right! In my version, there isn't a silly stone horse during the final battle scene, and Freddie reclaims the throne. Why choose between your crown and a con artist when you can have both? :3

For USUK Sweethearts Week, Day Seven.


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